THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


I 


*••• 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 
JOHN   S.  HOLT, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  Mississippi. 


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*/9?  ? 

/VZ^a 

CONTENTS. 

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PAOE 

5 

Y  MR.  PAGE'S  EXECUTOR  

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CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER      XXII 242 

CHAPTER    XXIII 248 

CHAPTER     XXTV 258 

CHAPTER      XXV 277 

CHAPTER     XXVI 288 

CHAPTER   XXVII 297 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 308 

CHAPTER     XXIX '. 311 

CHAPTER       XXX 330 

CHAPTER     XXXI 341 

CHAPTER  XXXII...  ..  351 


PREFACE,  BY  MR.  PAGE'S  EXECUTOR. 


I  AM  perfectly  aware  that  to  pretend  to  have  found  the 
manuscript  in  some  unlikely  place,  or  to  have  had  it  left  to 
one  by  last  will  and  testament,  is  an  old  and  hackneyed 
method  of  introducing  a  story ;  but  if  it  be  true  in  any 
case,  the  fact  should  not  be  ignored  for  that. 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  Mr.  Page  was  when  he  made  a 
visit  to  my  father,  his  old  friend  and  schoolmate.  It  was 
on  the  occasion  of  his  flight  from  the  persecutions  of  Miss 
Sophia  Walker,  which  he  has  mentioned  in  his  Life ;  at 
least  I  judge  it  was  at  that  time ;  for,  although  I  never 
heard  of  Miss  Walker  until  I  saw  Mr.  Page's  manuscript, 
he  never  made  but  the  one  visit  to  our  part  of  the  country. 
I  was  then  a  very  small  boy,  but  remember  perfectly  the 
impression  made  upon  me  by  the  old  gentleman.  He  was, 
I  suppose,  forty-eight  or  fifty  years  of  age,  and  was  of 
medium  height,  very  neat  in  his  person  and  brisk  in  his 
movements.  He  had  mild,  benevolent,  gray  eyes,  a  rather 
prominent  Roman  nose  and  a  broad  and  high  forehead. 
But  what  attracted  me  to  him  was  his  great  simplicity  and 
fondness  for  children.  For  hours  at  a  time  he  would  play 
with  me  and  my  sisters  (often  at  games  he  must  have  in 
vented,  for  I  have  never  seen  them  since)  or  would  tell  us 
the  most  comical  and  wonderful  stories.  We  thought  there 
1  *  5 


6  PREFACE. 

was  never  such  a  man  as  he,  and  when  he  left  us  to  return 
to  his  home  our  keenest  desire  was  to  see  him  again. 

One  of  my  first  attempts  at  letter-writing  was  a  letter  to 
him,  which  he  answered  by  due  course  of  mail ;  and  from 
that  time,  though  our  correspondence  sometimes  languished, 
it  was  kept  up,  when  I  was  not  with  him,  until  the  begin 
ning  of  the  late  war. 

When  I  became  a  law-student,  my  father,  acceding  to 
my  strong  desire,  and  to  frequent  and  pressing  invitations, 
allowed  me  to  go  on  to  Mr.  Page's,  where  I  remained 
nearly  two  years.  Certainly  no  young  man  ever  had  a 
more  kind,  capable,  and  conscientious  preceptor.  The 
amount  of  his  information  upon  all  subjects  was  prodigious. 
He  had  been  a  hard  student  all  his  life,  and  seemed  to  for 
get  nothing  he  had  ever  heard  or  read,  and  yet  he  was 
more  free  of  dry  scholasticisms  than  any  man  I  have  ever 
met  of  half  his  erudition.  He  never  used  a  technicality 
when  it  could  be  avoided,  and  the  most  abstruse  subjects, 
when  explained  by  him,  were  within  the  comprehension  of 
any  one  of  ordinary  mind.  Every  fact  or  system  of  facts 
seemed  by  some  powerful  process  of  mental  digestion  to  be 
reduced  by  him  to  its  simplest  elements,  and  the  most  com 
plex  and  dryest  parts  of  law,  theology,  and  politics  became 
simple  and  attractive. 

He  appeared  to  be  perfectly  aware  of  this  peculiar 
faculty  of  his  mind,  and,  indeed,  sometimes  to  indulge 
himself  in  a  little  self-flattery  on  account  of  it.  "There 
now!  Master  John!"  he  would  say  sometimes,  "consult 
your  new  lights  upon  that  subject,  and  see  if  they  are  more 
profound,  or  nigh  so  simple." 


PREFACE.  7 

Mr.  Page  had  his  little  vanities — what  man  has  not? — 
but  they  were  all  of  the  most  inoffensive  character.  It 
gratified  him  extremely  to  be  referred  to  by  his  neighbors 
for  any  information,  or  to  decide  any  point  which  seemed 
to  require  more  learning  than  they  possessed;  and  such 
demands  were  being  constantly  made,  for  he  was  almost  as 
much  esteemed  in  his  county  as  an  oracle  as  he  was  be 
loved  as  a  true  philanthropist. 

To  tell  half  the  good  he  did  is  impossible.  I  find  that 
he  has  said  of  his  father  what  could  equally  well  be  said  of 
himself:  "His  knack  for  encountering  objects  of  pity  on  his 
road,  and  his  luck  for  having  poor  orphan  children  thrown 
upon  his  hands  by  bequest  of  parents,  or  devise  of  circum 
stances,  was  at  all  times  extraordinary."  I  believe  it  to  be 
true  that  at  no  time  from  his  full  maturity  until  his  death 
did  he  have  fewer  than  two  orphans  wholly  dependent 
upon  him  for  support  and  education,  while  he  partially 
supported  others,  and  was  the  providence  of  all  the  poor 
widows  in  his  neighborhood.  He  has  omitted  all  this  in 
his  Life ;  but  some  of  his  experience  with  his  orphans,  as  I 
have  heard  it  related  by  his  neighbors,  was  discouraging 
enough  for  any  man  less  warm-hearted  than  he,  and  some 
of  it  was  very  comical.  He  would  never  admit  in  so  many 
words  that  gratitude  was  the  rarest  of  virtues,  but  I  feel 
sure  that  his  various  experiences  inclined  him  to  believe  it 
so.  For  instances  of  ingratitude  to  himself — and  from  all 
that  I  heard  they  were  frequent — he  had  many  excuses ;  as 
that  it  ran  in  their  blood,  or  that  they  had  been  so  hardly 
dealt  with  before  that  their  souls  were  narrowed ;  but  his 
chief  consolation  was  that  what  he  did  was  not  for  their 


8  PREFACE. 

gratitude,  but  for  his  own  sake ;  and  he  insisted  that  he  was 
really  selfish  in  all  his  charities.  His  philosophy  in  this 
matter  is  certainly  the  strongest  with  which  a  man  bent  on 
doing  good  can  fortify  himself,  for  without  it  one  or  two 
ragingly  or  whiningly  unreasonable  widows,  and  a  mean, 
ungrateful  orphan  or  two,  will  put  a  stop  to  the  warmest 
benevolence.  The  only  change  which  could  be  perceived 
in  Mr.  Page's  plans  of  benevolence  was,  that  he,  after 
a  while,  found  it  more  pleasant  to  support  his  orphans  and 
others  away  from  his  own  house. 

In  the  winter  of  1862-3  I  met  Mr.  Page,  old  as  he  was, 
at  C ,  very  busy  in  his  attention  about  the  army  hos 
pitals,  and  know  that  by  dint  of  persuasion  he  finally 
procured  permission  for  two  of  the  sick  to  go  home  with 
him  to  be  nursed.  After  the  surrender  at  Appomattox 
Court  House  I  took  his  house  on  my  route  home,  for  I  was 
sadly  fagged  and  in  want,  and  knew  that  I  should  get 
relief  with  him. 

I  arrived  at  a  sad  time.  During  the  whole  war  his 
house  had  been  a  perfect  hospital  for  sick  and  wounded 
soldiers,  and  two  or  three  months  before  my  arrival  a  raiding 
party  of  the  enemy  had  visited  the  old  man  and  had  treated 
him  most  shamefully.  Besides  breaking  up  much  of  his 
furniture  and  robbing  him  of  almost  everything  they  could 
carry  away,  whether  useful  to  them  or  not,  they  had  terri 
bly  cursed  and  abused  him  as  "a  d — d  old  rebel,"  and  had 
drawn  their  guns  upon  him  with  the  intention,  as  they  said, 
of  shooting  him ;  and  he  had  borne  it  all  like  the  noble  old 
gentleman  he  was. 

It  would  do  no  good  to  dwell  upon  the  scene  of  wanton 


PREFACE. 

mischief  and  cruel  malice  as  it  was  truly  related  to  me, 
but  not  by  him.  Such  things  it  will  do  to  pass  over,  but 
not  to  forget  until  a  time  of  peace  and  unity  shall  make 
fbrgetfulness  desirable.  At  any  rate,  the  disasters  of  the 
war,  together  with  these  personal  outrages,  were  too  much 
for  the  enfeebled  constitution  of  the  old  man — nearly 
eighty  years  of  age — and  I  found  him  in  a  very  critical 
state  of  health. 

He  said  that  my  arrival  was  all  that  was  wanted  to  make 
him  contented  again,  and  he  insisted  that  I  should  remain 
with  him  at  least  a  few  days. 

The  third  day  of  my  stay  I  thought  I  perceived  that  in 
spite  of  his  cheerful,  hopeful  conversation  he  was  rapidly 
declining  in  strength,  and  ventured  to  ask  him  if  he  felt  as 
strong  as  he  had  the  previous  day,  "No,  my  son,"  he 
replied.  "I  do  not  wish  to  deceive  you.  My  days  will  be 
very  few,  and  it  is  principally  on  that  account  I  have  in 
sisted  on  your  remaining  with  me.  You  will  find  my  last 
will  in  my  large  desk,  which  was  fortunately  among  the 
lumber  in  the  garret  when  the  raiding  party  came,  or  it 
too  might  have  been  destroyed.  I  have  named  you  my 
executor,  for  I  had  a  strong  presentiment  that  the  war 
would  spare  you,  and  I  find  myself  greatly  blessed  in  hav 
ing  you  with  me,  and  being  able  to  tell  you  my  wishes  more 
fully  than  I  could  possibly  have  written  them. 

"I  have  been  a  very  fortunate  man  all  my  life,  my  son, 
and  I  wish  to  impress  upon  your  mind  my  testimony  to  the 
goodness  and  power  of  God.  I  can  say  with  perfect  truth 
that  in  the  checkered  scenes  of  my  life,  though  I  have 

had  many  sorrows,  I  have  always  afterwards  seen  that  His 
A  * 


10  PREFACE. 

goodness  has  been  manifested  in  them  towards  me.  It  has 
been  invariably  the  case  that  the  right  thing  has  happened 
at  the  right  time,  and  I  have  full  confidence  that  it  shall 
be  so  still,  both  to  me  and  my  country."  (He  and  I  had 
been  talking  a  great  deal  about  public  afiairs. )'  "We  are 
very  wise  in  our  own  conceit,  and  very  rebellious,  some 
times,  towards  God,  but  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  will  do 
right.  There  could  be  no  better  time  than  this  for  an  old 
man  to  die,  for  great  troubles  have  yet  to  come,  and, 
though  I  feel  sure  they  will  end  for  the  best,  I  am  glad  to 
escape  them." 

At  another  time  the  same  day  he  said  to  me:  "Do  not 
be  downcast  about  our  cause,  for,  after  all,  if  the  principle 
of  strict  constitutional  government,  for  which  alone  we 
contended,  shall  be  established,  is  it  not  better  that  it 
should  be  over  the  whole  than  over  only  a  part  of  the 
country?  I  acknowledge  that  I  sometimes  have  great  fears 
and  doubts  about  the  fate  of  our  country ;  but  when  I  re 
flect  that  the  promised  days  of  peace  and  true  religion  on 
earth  must  soon  be  here,  and  that  it  would  in  the  natural 
course  of  events  take  ages  to  settle  this  country  in  peace 
under  any  other  form  or  forms  of  government  than  that 
we  now  have — and  which  is  perfectly  feasible  if  the  rights 
of  the  separate  States  and  the  other  restrictions  of  the  Con 
stitution  shall  be  strictly  observed — I  have  great  hopes  that 
the  late  war  and  the  present  and  prospective  troubles  and 
confusion  shall  end  in  the  triumph  and  firm  establishment 
of  our  principles  as  the  only  true  basis  of  constitutional 
government.  If  it  be  so,  our  people  shall  have  fought  and 
suffered  and  triumphed  gloriously.  But,  however  it  may 


PREFACE.  11 

be,  remember  at  all  times  that  it  is  God  who  rules,  and  that 
His  kingdom  shall  come,  and  His  will  shall  be  done  on 
earth  as  it  is  in  heaven." 

In  like  discourse,  and  in  telling  me  his  desires  with  re 
gard  to  his  property  and  dependants,  and  the  proceeds  of 
the  cotton  he  still  had  on  hand,  which  had  neither  been 
stolen  nor  destroyed,  and  the  reasons  why  he  did  not  make 
me  his  heir,  were  passed  the  very  few  days  Mr.  Page  was 
able  to  sit  up  at  all  and  converse  at  any  length.  The  old 
gentleman  was  particularly  concerned  that  I  should  fully 
appreciate  his  reasons  for  leaving  Miss  Boiling  the  bulk  of 
his  property.  He  said  that  the  events  of  the  war  had  ren 
dered  what  she  possessed  almost  entirely  valueless ;  and  he 
intimated  more  than  once  that  he  had  long  had  a  desire 
that  she  and  some  one  he  also  loved  should  live  in  his 
house,  the  representatives  of  himself  and  his  Mary;  and 
said  that  he  knew  the  property  alone  was  not  sufficiently 
valuable  to  warrant  me,  as  I  was  already  married,  or 
either  of  my  brothers,  to  leave  our  old  home  and  our  pros 
pects  there,  and  he  could  not  bear  to  have  it  pass  into  the 
hands  of  strangers.  He  said,  moreover,  that  my  brothers 
were  excellent  gentlemen  and  brave  soldiers ;  and  he  could 
see  no  reason  in  the  word  why,  now  that  Robert  Harley 
was  dead,  one  of  them  should  not  come  on  and  try  for 
Miss  Kate's  hand.  And  as  he  drew  nearer  his  end,  the 
idea  seemed  to  seize  him  more  and  more  forcibly,  and  he 
declared  that  it  was  impossible  there  should  be  a  more  fit 
or  happier  match.  To  gratify  him,  I  promised  to  use  my 
influence  to  bring  it  about ;  and  perhaps  it  may  yet  take 
place,  though  I  doubt  it.  I  have  found  that  Miss  Kate, 


12  PREFACE. 

though  she  fully  justifies  Mr.  Page's  love  and  admiration, 
has  a  firm  will  of  her  own,  and  my  brothers  are  quite  as 
indisposed  as  she  to  have  their  affections  directed. 

To  describe  the  death  of  my  good  old  friend  would  be  as 
painful  to  me  as  it  would  be  uninteresting  to  the  general 
reader.  He  died  peacefully,  and,  as  he  had  lived,  a  good 
and  loving  man. 

I  have  tried  my  utmost  to  carry  out  his  intentions.  The 
very  considerable  legacy  of  money  to  his  grand-niece  I 
have  paid  over,  and  she  is  spending  a  portion  of  it  in  con 
testing  his  will,  upon  the  ground  of  his  insanity.  The 
orphan  children  he  had  in  his  care  have  been  well  and  per 
manently  provided  for;  and  when  the  decision  of  the  court 
shall  allow  me,  I  will  hand  over  to  Miss  Kate  her  property, 
and  thus  finish  my  executorship,  except  with  regard  to  the 
manuscripts  left  in  my  charge. 

This  "Life"  of  Mr.  Page  I  publish,  not  only  because  I 
think  it  due  to  his  memory  to  do  so,  but  also  because  I 
believe  that  it  teaches  sound  principles  of  living  and  of 
thinking,  which  ought  to  be  disseminated.  I  have  no 
apology  to  make  for  his  style  or  matter,  for  although  both 
could,  doubtless,  be  improved  in  some  respects,  it  is  beyond 
my  power,  and  I  think  in  violation  of  my  duty,  to  improve 
or  attempt  to  improve  them.  To  judge  from  the  hand 
writing  of  the  manuscript,  as  well  as  the  tone  of  the  book, 
I  think  it  was  written  at  different  ages.  The  first  chapter 
appears  to  have  been  written  many  years  before  the  re 
mainder,  and  at  a  time  when  Mr.  Page  was  in  a  discon 
tented  mood  with  himself.  I  know  that  even  so  late  in 
his  life  as  when  I  went  on  to  visit  him  he  used  sometimes 


PREFACE.  13 

to  declare  that  he  was  a  "Failure."  He  seems  afterwards 
to  have  justified  himself  in  his  own  mind  (as  the  old  are 
prone  to  do)  for  not  having  reached  the  high  public  posi 
tion  and  accumulated  the  large  fortune  his  more  youthful 
ambition  declared  to  be  his  due. 

As  the  whole  book  was  written  before  and  during  the 
early  part  of  the  late  war,  I  need  not  tell  the  reader  that 
Mr.  Page's  political  sentiments  do  not  agree  with  those  of 
the  present  ruling  party.  But  they  are  just  those  of  the 
gentlemen  of  his  class  at  the  time  they  were  written ;  and 
if  they  are  now  settled  to  be  unsound,  it  can  surely  do  no 
harm  to  publish,  without  change,  an  old  man's  opinion  of 
them. 

His  ideas  about  the  Church  may  also  be  regarded  by  the 
mass  of  priests,  preachers,  and  women  as  very  heterodox. 
But  the  subject  is  of  so  vital  importance  that  every  man 
should  be  entitled  to  his  opinion  about  it;  and,  for  my  own 
part,  I  think  Mr.  Page's  opinion  worthy  of  serious  con 
sideration,  although  he  has  not  indulged  himself  in  a  dis 
play  of  learning  in  elucidating  it. 

There  are  only  two  things  I  would  ask  the  reader  to 
remark  about  his  ' '  Life. ' '  The  first  is,  his  perfect  freedom 
from  a  desire  to  be  thought  learned  or  over- wise ;  and  the 
second  is,  the  tone  of  quiet  humor  which  pervades  the 
whole  work.  And  I  would  say  to  the  reader  about  the 
more  pathetic  parts  of  the  book,  as  Mr.  Page  once  said  to 
me  about  a  touching  passage  he  was  reading  in  another's 
writings :  ' '  You  are  fortunate  if  you  understand  that,  for 
you  could  only  do  so  by  having  an  affectionate  heart 
yourself." 
2 


14  PREFACE. 

The  publication  of  Mr.  Page's  other  manuscripts  will 
depend  upon  the  success  of  this  with  the  public.  The 
proceeds  of  the  book  or  books  are  to  be  devoted  to  the 
support,  education,  and  start  in  life  of  a  little  boy  in  whom 
Mr.  Page  took  a  great  interest,  though  he  has  thought  fit 
not  to  mention  him  in  his  Life. 

JOHN  CAPELSAY, 

OF  NATCHEZ, 

Executor. 


LIFE   AND   OPINIONS 

OP 

ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ, 


CHAPTER    I. 

IT  is  a  fine  sight  to  see  an  old  man  whose  heart  still 
beats  with  generous  emotions,  whose  cares  have  not 
made  him  selfish,  whose  own  vicissitudes  have  but  made 
his  charity  more  gentle  and  universal. 

I  once  knew  such  a  man,  and  he  stands  alone  in  my 
memory.  By  honest  industry  he  had  raised  himself 
above  the  thousand  evils  of  \vant,  and  he  was  revered 
by  all  the  country  round  for  his  wisdom,  learning,  and 
humble  piety.  No  excesses  had  wasted  his  powers,  and 
though  age  had  somewhat  unstrung  the  high  tension 
of  his  organization,  his  gray  hairs  crowned  a  body  still 
erect  and  energetic,  and  covered  a  brain  still  teeming 
with  cheerful  thought.  I  often  saw  him  look  with  a 
smile  of  tenderest  love  upon  the  trustful  wife  of  his 
youth,  now  old  and  wrinkled,  to  whom  many  years  be 
fore,  when  he  first  clasped  her  in  his  warm  embrace, 
he  had  made  vows  of  love  he  had  never  broken.  Stand 
ing  with  her,  and  surrounded  by  the  amiable  and  intel 
ligent  children  with  whom  they  had  been  blessed,  he 
could  look  to  heaven  and  say  with  deepest  gratitude  and 
love:  "Behold  me,  and  those  Thou  hast  given  me!" 

(15) 


16  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

The  old  man  is  dead  now,  and  his  old  wife  has  joined 
him ;  but  it  seems  to  me  he  had  reached  a  grandeur  of 
human  dignity  the  greatest  worldly  honors  would  but 
lessen.  I  venture  to  say  that  had  his  case  been  pre 
sented  to  the  heathen  doctors  who  held  to  the  two 
hundred  and  eighty  different  opinions  as  to  the  princi 
pal  end  of  human  actions,  all  would  have  agreed  that  he 
had  acted,  at  least,  as  though  he  had  found  the  truth. 

Many  winters  have  silvered  my  hair,  and  in  the 
course  of  nature  I  must  soon  lie  in  the  cold  grave, 
where  all  my  rosy  hopes  have  long  since  gone ;  and  I 
am  sometimes  tempted  to  wish  that  such  a  destiny  as 
his  had  been  reserved  for  me.  But  such  a  wish  would 
be  both  foolish  and  unphilosophic  —  foolish,  because 
impossible  of  fulfillment;  and  unphilosophic,  because 
everything  is  for  the  best,  and  because  such  a  change 
would  require  a  total  reorganization  of  society  and 
affairs  in  my  own  State,  and  consequently  in  America, 
and  consequently  all  over  the  world;  and  Heaven 
alone  knows  what  would  be  the  upshot.  In  this  regard 
every  man  is  of  the  utmost  importance,  and  he  should 
console  himself  or  be  proud  accordingly. 

My  life,  like  that  of  most  other  men,  has  been  one  of 
mercies  and  duties  neglected.  My  youth  was  promising, 
for  I  was  gifted  with  a  vigorous  and  comely  person  and 
a  sprightly  mind.  There  are  few  things  I  could  not 
have  accomplished  had  I  so  willed.  I  feel  convinced  that 
I  should  have  made  a  good  carpenter  or  machinist,  for 
to  this  day  I  am  fond  of  tinkering;  and  after  age  had  so 
bered  my  enthusiasm  a  little,  I  am  pretty  sure  I  should 
have  made  a  notable  archbishop — for  I  always  had  a 
turn  for  the  Church.  As  a  painter  I  should  have  sue- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  17 

ceeded  finely ;  but  not  as  a  painter  of  portraits,  for  be 
sides  that  I  could  not  be  precise  long  enough  to  paint 
a  portrait,  my  sense  of  the  ludicrous  was  so  strong  I 
would  certainly  have  offended  my  patrons  by  carica 
turing  them.  I  could  have  become  a  distinguished 
musician,  for  I  had  a  correct  ear  and  was  passionately 
fond  of  music.  I  could  tip  off  "Stay,  Sweet  En 
chanter,"  and  "Robin  Adair,"  in  a  manner  to  be  ap 
plauded,  and  I  even  for  awhile  led  the  choir  in  the 
principal  church  of  my  native  village — there  were  three 
churches  there — but  the  young  ladies  of  the  choir  got 
married,  or  moved  away,  or  got  offended  with  each 
other,  and  would  no  longer  sit  and  sing  together,  and 
the  best  of  the  two  male  singers  died,  and  the  other 
got  the  bronchitis ;  so  that  I  was  finally  left  alone,  and 
the  congregation  seeming  to  think  soon  that  I  could 
sing  enough  for  all  of  us,  it  began  to  look  too  much 
like  work,  and  I  quit  it.  After  that,  I  sang  only  on 
occasions.  I  should  not  have  made  a  good  tailor,  for 
the  trade  is  too  confining  and  laborious;  but  I  know 
of  no  one  who  could  have  excelled  me  as  a  cutter-out 
for  fancy  young  gentlemen.  Neither  should  I  have 
made  a  good  physician,  for,  besides  that  I  abhor  bad 
smells,  my  anxiety  to  relieve  the  suffering  would  have 
warped  my  judgment.  Finally,  I  should  now,  as  a 
lawyer,  be  very  high  in  my  profession  if  I  had  really 
desired  it,  and  had  had  more  perseverance. 

"  Much  virtue  in  if,"  quoth  Touchstone.  Much  sor 
row  there  is  in  it  too,  Master  Touchstone,  although  the 
sorrow  may  be  unphilosophic.  There  are  a  great  many 
things  more  desirable  than  high  position,  and  even  than 
wealth. 

2*  B 


18  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

It  is  not  from  vanity  that  I  have  here  detailed  part 
of  my  various  talents,  but  merely  that  the  true  nature 
of  my  life  may  be  known.  I  know  of  no  vanity  more 
unreasonable  than  that  which  is  based  merely  upon 
superior  capacity  or  opportunities.  If  it  produced  that 
noble  ambition  which  leads  to  true  greatness — which  I 
consider  to  be  only  superiority  in  the  performance  of 
duty  and  in  conferring  benefits  upon  our  fellow-men — 
it  could  be  excused,  and  even  cultivated.  But  in  gen 
eral  this  feeling,  known  as  self-conceit,  is  an  opiate  to 
which  the  poor  victim  has  recourse  when  the  labors  of 
life  seem  too  hard ;  and  lulled  into  delicious  repose,  his 
imagination  revels  in  bright  visions  of  the  future,  and 
he  satisfies  himself  with  feverish  dreams  of  the  fame 
he  could  accomplish. 

He  sees  himself  at  some  future  time,  and  on  some 
great  but  indefinite  occasion,  mounting  the  rostrum  to 
address  vast  multitudes.  He  pictures  to  himself  how, 
as  he  warms  with  his  subject,  he  is  interrupted  by  loud 
huzzas.  Louder  and  louder  they  increase,  until  at  last, 
when  he  has  finished,  in  an  excess  of  enthusiasm  they 
lay  hands  upon  him  and  bear  him  on  their  shoulders, 
and  hail  him  as  the  man  of  the  people,  the  orator,  the 
demigod. 

Or  else  he  heads  a  charge  of  cavalry  in  some  great 
imaginary  battle.  He  hears  the  roar  of  the  artillery, 
the  sharp  fire  of  the  riflemen,  the  huzzas  of  the  soldiers. 
It  is  a  critical  moment.  He  rides  in  front  of  his  men. 
In  an  ecstasy  of  glory  he  calls  upon  them  to  follow  him, 
and  with  a  clash  and  flash  of  sabres  and  a  shout,  amid 
the  shrieks  of  the  wounded  and  the  groans  of  the  dying, 
they  ride  in  furious  career  through  the  ranks  of  the 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  19 

enemy,  trampling  their  scattered  hosts.  His  name,  like 
that  of  David,  becomes  a  song  in  the  mouth  of  the 
people,  and  he  too  has  a  Saul  over  whom  he  triumphs 
by  genius  and  virtue  to  arrive  at  supreme  power. 

Or,  seated  at  the  foot  of  some  spreading  beech  beside 
a  gurgling  brook,  his  imagination  is  soothed  by  the 
genial  warmth  and  the  thousand  beauties  and  pleasant 
odors  of  a  day  in  early  spring,  the  hum  of  busy  insects, 
and  the  songs  and  twittering  of  birds,  and  he  makes 
himself  rich  from  the  ready  foundation  of  an  "if,"  or  a 
still  more  certain  process  worked  out  by  his  ingenious 
fancy,  and  he  constructs  and  reconstructs  to  its  minutest 
detail  the  plan  of  a  house  he  will  build  in  the  shady  grove, 
to  be  the  abode  of  love  and  contentment  to  himself  and 
some  transcendent  wife  he  has  yet  to  see  in  reality — 
though  she  may,  indeed,  be  an  existing  Dulcinea. 

And  so  the  poor  victim  dreams  on,  so  he  warms  him 
self  with  his  imaginings,  careless  of  his  fortune  and 
heedless  <of  time,  till,  at  last,  he  wakes  to  find  himself 
old  and  poor,  his  time  and  talents  gone  to  waste ;  all 
his  past  confusion,  all  the  future  a  blank,  to  be  filled  as 
the  crazed  fill  the  present. 

I  am  an  old  man  now,  with  neither  Avife  nor  child 
to  cheer  my  age.  Though  I  have  many  friendly  ac 
quaintances,  I  have  few  friends.  Those  of  my  youth 
have  either  died  around  me  or  removed,  long  years  ago, 
to  distant  sections  of  the  country,  where  most  of  them 
have  died,  and  I  have  been  left  to  make  new  friend 
ships — as  though  the  old  vine  once  untwined  from  its 
support  could  ever  adapt  itself  and  cling  to  another ! 
I  am  solitary,  yet  never  lonely.  God  has  spared  me 
my  memory,  and  as  I  travel  across  the  desert  of  life  I 


20  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

am  unconscious  of  the  burning  sun  and  drifting  sands, 
and  have  ever  present  with  me  the  happy  forest,  with 
its  flowers  and  gushing  springs,  its  singing  birds  and 
its  pleasant  breezes,  from  which  I  started,  the  cooling 
shades  which  I  have  passed  through  here  and  there 
along  the  way,  the  dear  companions  who  left  me  before 
the  journey  was  half  over;  and,  thank  God!  I  have 
now  at  last  upon  the  horizon  the  bright  prospect  of  a 
happier  and  more  beautiful  country  to  which  I  am 
going.  I  see  there,  even  at  this  distance,  scenes  and 
forms  which  bring  to  mind  the  places  where  I  have  en 
joyed  myself,  and  the  faces  I  have  loved  long  ago.  Ah, 
me!  I  wish  to  hasten  my  steps;  and  when  I  see  so 
many  young  men  and  maidens,  old  persons  and  infants, 
gliding  rapidly  ahead  of  me,  it  seems  that  I  go  very 
slowly.  Yet  all  in  good  time  !  all  in  good  time!  An 
old  man  ought  not  to  be  impatient. 

I  used  to  think  it  strange,  and  even  false,  that  any 
one  in  his  senses  and  free  of  pain  should  be  impatient 
to  die.  But  it  is  not  strange  to  me  now,  and  I  am 
very  glad  that  it  can  be  true.  I  saw  my  old  father  and 
my  blessed  mother,  my  Mary,  and  niy  little  son  die,  and 
I  am  sure  I  can  pass  easily  through  what  they  did.  I 
heard  their  last  sighs,  and  saw  them  lie  pallid  before 
me;  kissed  their  cold  foreheads  after  they  were  laid  in 
their  coffins,  and  heard  the  cruel  clods  rattle  down  as 
their  graves  were  filled,  and  I  went  with  torn  but  hope 
ful  heart  from  each  spot  to  continue  my  journey.  Yet 
I  see  them  now,  yonder  in  that  happy  land,  blooming 
more  fresh  and  joyous  than  ever,  and  with  smiles  and 
outstretched  arms  waiting  for  the  old  man  to  come  to 
them.  A  little  longer,  my  darlings!  Wait  a  little 
longer,  and  he  will  be  with  you. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  21 

Will  not  that  be  a  happy  meeting  ?  And  can  any 
one  wonder  I  should  wish  it  to  be  hastened  ? 

It  is  only  when  long  solitary  my  fancy  get  over 
charged  with  remembrances  of  the  past,  and  my  dor 
mant  affections  become  aroused  to  feel,  as  I  imagine 
they  once  felt  in  my  vigor,  that  such  rhapsodies  as  this 
affect  me.  They  warn  me  that,  though  my  feelings 
are  yet  strong,  they  are  fast  becoming  those  of  a  doting 
old  man.  Falstaff,  when  "a  babbled  of  green  fields," 
showed  just  such  an  effort  of  energy  in  weakness. 
And  yet  I  need  not  be  ashamed  of  it  and  call  it  a 
rhapsody.  It  is  surely  better  to  look  with  glorious 
hopes  and  imaginings  to  the  future  than  with  gloom 
and  regret  upon  the  past. 

The  amount  of  sorrow  for  myself  I  have  expended 
in  my  lifetime  is  past  gathering  up.  It  has  been  a 
great  waste  of  time  and  feeling,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  it  has  never  done  any  good.  A  sorrow  that  leads 
to  repentance  is  most  wholesome ;  but,  if  you  will  re 
member  it,  the  most  contrite  persons  you  ever  saw  in 
your  life  were  precisely  those  who  were  the  weakest, 
and  most  certain  to  repeat  their  fault  upon  the  first 
temptation.  I  always  forebode  much  misery  to  a  child 
who  too  readily  acknowledges  a  fault  and  is  glib  in  his 
promises  for  the  future.  Where  there  is  obstinacy  be 
fore  contrition  there  is  apt  to  be  firmness  in  repentance. 

One  other  result  of  my  observation  and  experience  I 
would  remark  just  here.  It  is  equally  as  harassing 
and  as  great  a  waste  of  time  to  spend  it  in  brooding 
over  the  past  as  in  conjecturing  about  the  future. 
Neither  past  nor  future  can  be  changed,  and  the  pres 
ent  is  made  wretched. 


22  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  historians  of  Amadis  de  Gaul,  King  Arthur, 
and  such  like,  and  the  monkish  biographers  of 
saints  of  the  Middle  Ages,  magnified  their  heroes  by 
carrying  them  triumphantly  through  desperate  ad 
ventures  with  men,  dragons,  and  Satan  with  all  his 
hosts;  and  their  brethren  of  the  present  day  follow 
somewhat  the  same  course.  Even  the  writers  of  una 
dulterated  fiction  treat  only  of  extraordinary  men  who 
have  met  with  extraordinary  fortunes  or  misfortunes. 

I  have  often  been  vexed  wifch  shame  at  not  being 
able  even  to  understand  the  laughter-provoking  Latin 
puns,  or  Greek  conundrums,  or  Hebrew  jeux  cPesprit 
popped  off,  I  judged  by  the  context,  at  the  most  oppor 
tune  time,  by  some  hero  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  of 
age,  who  has  already  passed  through  more  learning, 
loves,  wars,  and  adventures  than  Methusaleh,  though 
he  lived  nine  hundred  and  sixty-nine  years,  and  begat 
Lamech  and  other  sons  and  daughters,  ever  dreamed 
about.  It  is  true  that  these  adjuncts  of  superiority 
please  and  excite  the  minds  of  mankind,  who  have  a 
natural  reverence  for  a  superior ;  but  I  do  not  see  how 
they  benefit  them.  They  can  neither  imitate  the  good, 
nor  take  warning  by  the  mistakes,  of  these  fictitious 
gentry,  simply  because  the  ordinary  capacities,  course, 
and  occurrences  of  life  are  of  a  totally  different  stamp. 

If  this  manuscript  be  ever  read  (and  I  hope  it  shall 
be),  he  who  reads  will  find  in  it  merely  the  life  and 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  23 

opinions  of  an  ordinary  individual,  who,  like  most  of 
his  fellow-men,  felt  loves  and  disappointments,  for  the 
most  part  imaginary  and  easy  to  have  been  prevented 
or  overcome  by  a  due  exercise  of  his  judgment;  joys 
and  pleasures,  quite  as  imaginary  and  unreasonable; 
opinions,  false  to  every  one  but  himself  and  a  few 
others ;  and  misfortunes,  caused  for  the  most  part  by 
his  own  fault.  And  the  thought  that  benefit  may  arise 
to  any  one  by  its  perusal  cheers  me  like  the  strain  of 
the  thrush,  singing  at  midnight  in  the  lowly  thicket, 
delights  the  ear  of  him  who  wishes  for  the  morning. 

It  matters  little  for  my  purpose  to  tell  when  or  where 
I  was  born :  these  and  similar  matters  I  will  hurry  over. 
It  is  sufficient  that  I  was  born  in  one  of  the  far  South 
ern  States,  and  just  in  the  edge  of  the  piny  woods; 
or,  to  speak  more  picturesquely  and  vaguely,  just  where 
the  magnolia  and  pine,  with  the  other  differing  trees 
and  shrubs,  and  soil  and  face  of  the  country  which  ac 
company  those  two  denizens  of  the  forest,  seem  to  be 
blended. 

My  father  was  a  physician,  by  the  name  of  Alfred 
Page.  His  circumstances  were  not  such  as  to  permit 
him  to  contract  an  early  marriage,  so  that  he  did  not 
marry  until  he  reached  the  age  of  thirty-live,  when  he 
saw,  and,  with  excellent  taste,  I  think,  fell  in  love  with 
Miss  Lucy  Barnard,  the  daughter  of  a  gentleman  as 
poor  as  wise,  and  as  wise  as  poor,  whom  he  married, 
and  by  whom  he  had  myself  and  four  other  children — 
of  whom  I  am  the  only  one  now  living.  My  aunt, 
Surah  Page,  married  my  mother's  only  brother,  James 
Barnard,  so  that  it  used  to  be  a  familiar  saying  with  us, 
that  "  a  Page  married  a  Barnard,  and  a  Barnard  married 
a  Page." 


24  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

My  Uncle  James  was  a  bustling,  dapper  little  lawyer, 
with  hard  gray  eyes,  stiff  and  grizzled  hair,  thick-soled, 
shiny  boots,  and  immaculate  shirt-bosoms  and  collars. 
He  had  a  good  practice  in  the  neighboring  county 
town,  Rosstown,  and,  as  my  Aunt  Sarah  was  possessed 
of  a  very  full  share  of  that  natural  aristocratic  feeling 
which  belongs  to  woman,  and  he  did  not  lack  latent 
pride  himself  (though  he  never  allowed  it  to  interfere  in 
his  schemes),  as  money  and  popularity  increased,  they 
assumed  a  superior  gentility  to  the  rest  of  their  kin, 
who,  as  they  lived  some  distance  off,  were  rather  willing 
it  should  be  so,  and  they  were  looked  to  by  us  children, 
and  in  fact  by  the  whole  family,  as,  par  excellence,  our 
genteel  relations. 

I  remember  very  well  a  visit  I  once  made  to  my 
aunt's  house.  It  cast  such  an  awful  chill  upon  my  feel 
ings  that  I  can  never  forget  it.  My  father,  having  to 
visit  Rosstown  upon  some  business,  took  me  with  him 
for  the  expansion  of  my  mind.  My  Uncle  James  re 
ceived  us  with  that  forced  cordiality  so  well  suited  to 
his  character  and  purposes  in  life.  I  do  not  doubt  but 
that  he  had  a  species  of  regard  for  both  of  us,  and  that 
if  all  things  were  otherwise  equal  he  would,  in  case  of 
a  quarrel  with  a,  stranger,  have  taken  our  side — if  he 
took  either — but  he  was,  in  public,  an  altogether  artifi 
cial  personage.  My  father,  who  always  showed  the 
kindest  consideration  for  those  about  him,  finding  he 
was  to  be  detained  for  some  hours  upon  his  affairs,  told 
me  I  had  better  go  to  my  aunt's,  where  he  intended  to 
dine.  Uncle  James  directed  me  the  way,  and  after 
some  search  I  found  the  house.  It  stood  upon  a  rather 
elevated  spot,  just  on  the  edge  of  the  town,  and  was 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  25 

one  of  those  wooden,  two-story,  white  ephemera,  with 
a  showy  portico  and  a  stiff  little  garden  in  front,  so 
common  to  pretentious  villages,  and  so  proper  for  pre 
tentious  people  to  live  in. 

As  I  knocked  at  the  door  (with  a  good  deal  of  trepi 
dation,  I  confess)  I  heard  my  aunt  talking  to  one  of  her 
servants  in  a  shrill  tone,  and  soon  was  met  by  her. 
She  was  a  tall,  passionless-looking  and  loosely-put-to 
gether  woman,  with  pale  blue  eyes;  and  although  she 
had  been  married  only  some  twelve  years,  already  began 
to  have  a  made-up  look  about  her,  very  different  from 
my  dear  mother,  who  was  as  active,  cheerful  a  little 
black-eyed  body  as  you  would  find.  She  eyed  me  all 
over,  and  said,  without  a  particle  of  pleasure  in  her 
voice :  "Is  that  you  ?  La,  child,  your  feet  are  muddy. 
Go  wipe  them  on  the  door-mat!"  I  did  so,  of  course, 
but  nervously,  and  feeling  terribly  mortified  that  I  was 
about  to  commit  such  a  faux  pas ;  and  she  showed  me 
into  a  frigidly  decent  little  parlor — with  the  blinds  all 
closed,  and  the  hearth  filled  with  evergreens  and  faded 
flowers,  though  it  was  then  late  in  the  fall,  and  a  fire 
would  have  been  very  pleasant.  After  asking  me  about 
the  family  in  general  terms,  and  the  potato  crop,  chick 
ens  and  turkeys  more  particularly,  she  went  out  and 
sent  in  my  cousins,  who  had  been  playing  in  the  back 
yard,  to  see  and  entertain  me.  There  were  only  two — 
Fitzroy,  who  was  six  months  older  than  myself,  and 
Anne  Page. 

My  aunt  was  fond  of  novels  and  poems,  and  my 

uncle  was  too  immersed  in  his  projects  to  care  about 

names.     Fitzroy  was  a  grand  name — though  I  doubt 

if  my  aunt  knew  its  origin — and  "Anne  Page"  was  a 

3 


26  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

sweet  name.  My  name  is  Abraham,  for  my  father 
loved  his  Bible,  and  had  a  particular  regard  for  the  pa 
triarch  Abraham,  for  reasons  I  will  give  hereafter. 

There  was  such  a  look  of  restraint  about  Cousin  Fitz- 
roy's  black  jacket,  with  three  rows  of  buttons  and  a 
little  peak  behind,  and  his  tight  boots  and  curly  head, 
and  in  the  cold,  I'm-better-than-you  way  he  gave  me 
his  hand,  that  my  gushing  affections  suddenly  backed 
up  stream.  Anne  was  a  little  rosy-cheeked,  brown- 
haired  girl,  with  large,  inquiring  blue  eyes,  who  hung 
behind  her  brother,  and  was  as  abashed  as  I  was.  We 
tried  to  play  together,  and  Fitzroy  showed  me  all  about 
the  place  he  thought  worthy,  but  it  was  so  evident  that 
it  was  shown  to  excite  my  admiration,  and  such  was  my 
diffidence  and  his  lack  of  heartiness,  that  I  did  not  really 
enjoy  myself  at  all. 

I  had  every  disposition  to  love  him,  and,  in  a  respect 
ful  way,  as  towards  a  relation  who  did  me  honor,  to 
make  him  my  friend.  But  there  ai'e  some  damp  people 
in  the  world  who  have  as  great  a  capacity  for  absorb 
ing  and  making  latent  the  caloric  of  one's  affections  as 
the  vapor,  in  time  of  a  thaw,  has  to  take  it  out  of  one's 
body.  And  there  are  some  so  self-conscious  as  to  draw 
undivided  attention  to  themselves  with  million-magni 
fying  microscopic  power,  to  the  rendering  coarse  the 
texture  of  their  characters,  and  the  detection  of  the 
voracious  little  dragons,  crawling  worms,  and  absurdly- 
acting  monsters  of  their  dispositions. 

So  little  tact  had  I  that  I  beat  him  jumping  and  climb 
ing,  and  at  last  must  needs  boast  of  the  superiority  of 
our  spacious  yard  at  home,  with  its  large-spreading 
trees,  to  his  little  inclosure,  with  its  few  dwarf  shrubs 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  27 

and  stiff  rose-bushes.  It  was  what  young  men  of  the 
present  day  would  call  "a  flanking  operation,"  and 
when  he  saw  himself  ousted  from  his  strongholds  his 
vanity  was  hurt,  and  of  course  he  was  in  the  pouts. 
The  fact  was,  that  by  boasting  he  allured  me  to  my 
strongest  tact.  I  had  more  imagination  than  he,  and 
when  put  upon  my  metal  could  create  a  Paradise  with 
a  few  bushes,  and  all  four  of  its  rivers  with  a  spring 
branch.  He  became  sulky  and  pettish,  and  said  he  was 
tired,  and  eluded  Anne  for  rudeness  and  being  too 
boisterous  and  familiar ;  for  she  soon  became  at  ease 
with  me,  and,  though  what  I  did  and  said  was  dis 
pleasing  to  him,  it  seemed  to  give  her  pleasure. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  me  when  my  father  came  with 
my  uncle,  for  I  always  felt  happy  and  at  home  with 
him.  He  was  a  man  of  great  intelligence,  butexcessively 
single-minded  and  sincere ;  and  though  both  rny  uncle 
and  my  aunt  were  forced  to  respect  him,  it  was  evident 
they  looked  with  half  contempt  upon  what  they  es 
teemed  his  "softness."  I  noticed  at  dinner,  though  I 
did  knock  over  my  tumbler,  and  could  not  manoeuvre 
my  knife,  fork  and  spoon,  my  hands  and  elbows,  half 
right,  that  my  aunt  praised  the  chickens,  turkeys,  and 
potatoes  of  our  part  of  the  country,  and  particularly  of 
our  place,  and  depreciated  those  brought  to  Rosstown, 
and  seemed  quite  contented  when  my  father  suggested, 
in  his  innocence,  that  he  would  send  her  some  by  the 
first  opportunity. 

In  thinking  over  the  matter,  after  I  had  gained  a 
little  more  experience,  it  was  clear  to  me  that  my  rela 
tives  had  come  to  the  singular  conclusion  (for  persons 
of  their  blood  and  position)  that  wealth  was  the  sum- 


28  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

mum  bonum,  and  had  determined  to  get  rich.  An  opin 
ion  of  that  character,  like  the  folly  of  a  fool,  will  betray 
itself,  and  is  most  disastrous  in  its  effects.  It  naturally 
leads  to  obsequiousness  to  the  rich  because  they  are 
rich,  and,  among  the  rich,  to  clannish  exclusiveness 
with  those  their  equals  in  wealth.  This  is  the  thing 
which  in  our  country  is  now-a-days  called  aristocracy ; 
for,  like  many  other  mean  things,  it  is  dignified  with  a 
high-sounding,  wrongly-applied  name. 

I  can  understand  an  aristocratic  feeling  arising  from 
superior  birth;  for  the  man  who  derives  his  blood 
through  a  long  line  of  honorable  ancestors,  and  in  whom 
is  no  mental,  moral,  or  physical  defect,  has  the  right  to 
regard  himself  entitled  to  a  consideration  superior  to 
that  bestowed  upon  one  whose  blood  is  muddy  or 
tainted,  however  intelligent  and  beautiful  that  one  may 
be.  The  chances  are  a  thousand  to  one  that  such  a  man 
is  a  thorough  gentleman.  Even  breeders  of  horses, 
cattle,  and  hogs  act  upon  the  known  facts  of  hereditary 
qualities.  But,  now-a-days,  people  are  so  spiritual  and 
so  engaged  in  the  various  branches  of  psychology  that 
they  forget  they  are  animals,  except  in  their  appetites, 
and  in  regard  to  those  the  large  majority  are  governed 
neither  by  the  reason  of  men  nor  the  instinct  of  brutes. 
In  fact,  it  is  a  recklessly  extravagant  declaration  to  say 
that  man  is  governed  by  reason.  Animals,  except 
monkeys,  are  more  reasonable  within  their  sphere  of 
action  and  in  their  indulgences. 

But  it  certainly  is  amusing  to  see  the  you-tickle-me- 
and-I'll-tickle-you  exclusiveness  of  our  aristocracy  of 
wealth — our  snobs.  A  set  of  dirt-worshiping  creatures, 
male  and  female,  who,  by  luck,  dishonesty,  or  meanness 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  29 

— either  their  own  or  that  of  their  predecessors — have 
amassed  their  god  into  piles  above  the  average  size,  in 
stantly  and  that  with  the  connivance  of  most  of  their 
race,  set  themselves  up  as  a  sacred  priesthood.  They 
visit,  marry,  laugh,  cry,  have  jokes  and  secrets  among 
themselves,  are  mean  to  themselves  and  the  laity,  "and 
generous  to  each  other.  In  point  of  perversity  they  are 
only  surpassed  by  the  laity,  who  bow  down  to  them ; 
who  hate  each  other  and  the  rich  too  ;  who  try  to  rob 
the  one,  and  are  envious  of  the  other. 

Let  me  not  be  misunderstood.  It  would  be  unbecom 
ing  to  an  old  man,  and  one  who  hopes  he  has  lost  the 
wiry  edge  of  his  feelings,  to  have  even  the  appearance 
of  a  want  of  charity  or  of  the  strictest  regard  for  truth. 
I  make  no  sweeping  charges  against  the  rich  or  those 
who  move  in  "high  circles."  We  have  had  in  my  be 
loved  South  an  aristocracy,  not  soon  to  be  altogether 
extinguished,  thank  Heaven!  whatever  may  happen, 
which  was  by  no  means  dependent  upon  wealth,  though 
many  of  its  members  possessed  it.  When  I  call  it  an 
aristocracy  I  only  follow  the  popular  cant.  It  should 
rather  be  called  a  highest  class  of  society,  'sjt  was 
founded  on  hereditary  virtue,  intelligence,  and  refine 
ment^  and  one  of  a  vulgar  family,  however  rich  or  ac 
complished  he  or  she  might  be,  had  no  part  in  it;  be 
cause  one  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer.  In  some 
of  the  vilest  families  I  have  ever  known  there  have, 
phenomenally,  been  born  daughters  who  were  embodi 
ments  of  every  gentle  virtue  and  excellence,  and  I  have 
remarked  that  invariably  their  children  were  the  copies 
of  their  precious  grandparents,  uncles,  and  aunts.  As 
this  fact  was  thoroughly  known,  the  beautiful,  good,  rich, 
3* 


30  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

and  accomplished  Miss  Scroggins,  though  admired  and 
always  treated  with  the  utmost  politeness,  did  not  belong 
to  the  society  I  speak  of;  while  poor  and  homely  Miss 
Leigh  was  its  pride  and  delight,  and  her  greatest  social 
trouble  was  how  to  decline  those  pressing  kindnesses  she 
could  not  repay.  Miss  Scroggins  and  Miss  Leigh  were 
acquaintances,  but  that  was  all.  Miss  Leigh's  brother 
would  hardly  have  married  Miss  Scroggins,  and  Miss 
Leigh  could  not  by  any  possibility  have  ever  married 
Miss  Scroggins's  brother,  though  he  was  an  honest  man. 

As  I  shall  have  frequent  occasion  to  mention  this 
truly  high  class  of  society — for  it  is  my  sole  source  of 
pride  that  I  was  born  and  raised  and  always  have  lived 
one  of  its  members — I  will  pass  over  any  connected  de 
tail  of  its  excellencies.  But,  in  connection  with  what  I 
have  said  of  the  natural  obsequiousness  of  those  who 
make  wealth  the  greatest  good,  I  would  remark  that, 
leaving  aside  dishonesty  and  extraordinary  luck,  the  only 
way  to  become  rich  in  an  ordinary  lifetime  is  by  hard 
work  and  meanness — by  selling  all  the  large  potatoes, 
eating  only  the  small  ones,  and  toiling  and  conjuring  to 
make  them  all  large.  This  is  called  Prudence,  Industry, 
and  Economy,  and,  when  not  carried  to  excess,  it  is 
commendable:  I  only  wish  I  had  practiced  it  more. 
But  those  who  worship  such  a  good,  worship  it  with 
superstitious  sincerity,  fear  its  frowns  as  the  greatest  of 
evils,  and  strive  for  its  blessings  with  groveling,  self- 
immolating,  jealous  and  all-absorbing  greed. 

Wealth,  though  a  good  thing  in  itself,  is  very  danger 
ous  to  those  who  overvalue  it.  On  the  other  hand,  pov 
erty  is  also  a  very  good  thing,  for  some  people,  and  but 
for  it  many  a  man  would  miss  fame  on  earth,  and  many 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  31 

more  miss  heaven.  Wealth  is  like  the  right  of  suffrage — 
make  it  universal  and  mankind  would  start  to  the  devil 
at  lightning  speed,  and  increase  their  velocity  in  ratio 
to  the  distance  to  their  stopping-place. 

All  this  disquisition  about  wealth  and  poverty  is  so 
true  that  it  sounds  trite;  and  to  the  reading  and  reflect 
ive  it  is  trite,  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  about 
nine-tenths  of  our  people  read  very  little  and  never  re- 1 
fleet ;  memory  seems  to  be  the  only  intellectual  gift  ever  , 
exercised.  Therefore,  in  dwelling  upon  the  subject  as 
I  do,  I  am  not  indulging  in  the  babble  of  senility.  If 
these,  my  opinions,  are  ever  read,  some  one  who  has 
not  reflected  shall  be  able  to  profit  by  my  reflections 
upon  these  common  matters,  of  which  I  have  had  much 
opportunity  for  observation  and  experience 

The  best  state  is  that  desired  by  Agtir,  the  son  of 
Jakeh;  and  a  good  Providence  placed  my  father  in  just 
that  condition  during  my  early  childhood,  and,  afterward, 
during  the  latter  portion  of  his  life.  I  say  that  a  good 
Providence  placed  him  in  that  condition,  for  it  is  certain 
that  he  himself  had  little  to  do  with  the  planning  or 
managing  of  it.  He  was  a  philosopher  and  a  wise  one; 
and,  while  he  tried  to  do  his  duty  in  all  respects,  he 
never  fretted  himself  about  the  future,  put  all  his  trust 
in  God,  and  thought  that  everything  was  for  the  best. 
He  laid  ingenious  plans  for  gaining  wealth,  because 
wealth  was  desirable  and  debt  is  terrible ;  yet,  as  each 
of  them  failed,  he  found  many  good  reasons  why  he 
would  have  been  utterly  ruined  had  it  been  accom 
plished,  and  thanked  God  for  all  his  mercies.  His 
father  was  just  like  him,  as  I  have  heard,  and  his  son 
has  had  almost  daily  cause  for  gratitude  that  he  has 
inherited  their  spirit. 


32  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

What  a  miserable  man  he  must  be  who  feels  that  he 
has  to  be  eternally  blowing  and  manipulating  all  the 
irons  of  a  varied  life ;  who  has  no  trust  but  in  himself, 
and  fusses  and  frets  about  what  goes  best  if  he  will 
only  let  it  alone ;  and,  will  he  nill  he,  goes  its  own  way 
after  all.  Let  him  plan  as  cunningly  as  he  may,  he  is 
not  infallible ;  let  him  make  himself  as  busy  as  a  man 
fighting  bees,  he  will  get  some  stings.  The  affairs  of 
one's  life  are  like  a  steam-engine ;  and  if  the  engineer 
think  he  has  to  be  always  on  the  alert  to  raise  the 
levers,  shut  down  the  valves,  and  help  on  the  piston, 
and  if  he  live  in  continual  dread  that  the  wheels  will 
stop  on  a  center,  or  the  whole  thing  smash  up  but  for 
his  activity,  he  is  a  poor  botch  at  the  business,  is  mis 
erable  whether  he  be  in  the  engine-room  or  the  cabin, 
and  the  sooner  he  gets  off  the  boat  the  better  for  him 
and  his  associates.  The  true  philosophy  of  life  is  to 
fear  God,  do  our  duty,  and  leave  results  with  Him 
"who  sees  the  end  from  the  beginning." 

"  It  is  vain  for  you  to  rise  up  early,  to  sit  up  late,  to 
eat  the  bread  of  sorrows." 


CHAPTER    III. 

WHEN  my  father  married,  he  had  no  property 
but  a  small  frame  dwelling-house,  some  hundred 
or  so  acres  of  piny-woods  land,  and  three  negroes; 
and  in  marrying  he  got  no  dowry  but  happiness. 
Though  he  called  that  "marrying  rich,"  it  took  all  his 
labor  in  the  practice  of  his  profession  to  support  the 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  33 

land  and  the  negroes,  and  the  little  hungry  stomachs 
which  were  soon  added  one  by  one  to  his  household. 
In  those  days  the  practice  of  medicine  in  our  part  of 
the  country  was  most  laborious.  The  settlement  was 
new,  and  consequently  unhealthy ;  the  farms  were  far 
apart;  there  were  many  creeks  and  swamps,  none  of 
which  were  bridged;  and  the  .roads  were  generally 
but  horse-paths  through  the  cane.  Four-wheeled  vehi 
cles  less  substantial  than  an  ox  wagon  were  almost 
unknown,  and  there  were  very  few  ox  wagons.  My 
great-niece  now  goes  bowling  along  in  her  brette  be 
hind  a  spanking  team  over  the  tracks  traveled  by  her 
great-grandmother  riding  en  croupe  behind  her  brother 
or  husband,  both  dodging  the  overhanging  cane  or  con 
tinually  brushing  it  from  their  faces.  In  1823,  as  I 
well  remember,  the  tall  cane  over  the  whole  country 
went  to  seed  and  died  out,  switch-cane,  as  we  call  it, 
in  after-years  coming  up  in  its  place.  Before  that 
there  wei-e  bears,  panthers,  wild-cats,  and  wolves 
enough  in  the  woods  to  make  children  timid  about 
wandering  from  home,  and  to  make  even  grown  men 
cautious — a  distinction  with  little  difference,  if  you 
analyze  it. 

But  neither  animals  nor  bad  roads,  cold,  heat,  nor 
freshets  balked  my  father  in  his  duty.  He  had  no 
thought  of  fame,  nor  did  he  harass  his  mind  about  the 
accumulation  of  wealth.  If  there  ever  was  a  man 
actuated  solely  by  love,  it  was  he ;  gentle  and  devoted 
love  for  his  family,  benevolence  for  his  race,  and  rev 
erent  love  for  his  God.  My  grandmother  told  me  he 
was  so  in  his  childhood  and  youth ;  my  mother  said 
that  because  he  was  so,  she  loved  him  long  before  she 

c 


34  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

married  him ;  I  know  be  was  so  from  my  childhood  to 
his  last  hour;  and  in  the  bright  visions  I  have  of  him 
now,  a  smile  of  ineffable  sweetness  glorifies  his  noble 
countenance  as  he  stretches  forth  his  arms  to  me  from 
the  outermost  hill  of  heaven. 

It  is  not  strange  that  I  have  a  high  regard  for  good 
physicians  and  a  keen  appreciation  of  their  duties, 
responsibilities,  pleasures,  troubles,  and  necessary 
characteristics,  when  my  most  tender  and  reverent 
feelings  are  so  associated  with  one  of  their  number. 

Except  the  primary  relationships  of  domestic  life, 
there  is  not  one  so  near  as  that  of  physician  and 
patient.  It  may  almost  be  said  that  the  physician 
forms  one  of  the  domestic  circle ;  for  this  abode  of  all 
man  holds  most  dear,  is  his  peculiar  province.  When 
invaded  by  disease,  his  aid  is  invoked  to  drive  away 
the  destroyer.  The  agonized  husband,  the  helpless 
mother,  the  frightened  and  despairing  children  impa 
tiently  wait  his  coming,  and  at  his  approach  hope 
revives  in  their  breasts.  They  watch  his  boding  coun 
tenance,  and  their  hearts  mark  every  change ;  their 
smiles  wait  upon  his,  and  his  anxiety  makes  theirs  ten 
fold  more  intense.  For  the  time,  indeed,  he  seems  to 
be  the  soul  upon  whose  motions  they  all,  as  obedient 
members,  wait.  When  peace  is  restored  he  is  regarded 
as  a  conqueror,  or,  better  still,  is  blessed  as  a  dearest 
friend.  And  in  the  most  adverse  fate,  if  he  be  one 
whose  skill  and  faithfulness  have  long  been  tested,  his 
want  of  success  is  imputed  to  the  irresistible  course  of 
nature,  directed  by  the  will  of  God. 

To  him  this  holy  circle  is  always  open.  He  comes 
and  goes,  night  or  day,  in  sorrow  or  in  gladness.  The 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  35 

servants  are  at  his  beck,  and  with  eagerness  and  respect 
obey  his  call.  From  him  there  are  no  secrets;  his  office 
makes  him  an  inquisitor  to  whom  modesty  itself  must 
reveal  its  most  sacred  knowledge.  Toward  him  there 
is  no  jealousy,  no  envy.  The  husband  confides  to  his 
honor  and  skill  the  sanctities  of  the  marital  relation ; 
the  father,  the  lover,  the  brother,  all  place  what  they 
esteem  most  precious  in  his  hands.  But  the  relation 
ship  approaches  closer  still;  "yea,  all  that  a  man  hath 
will  he  give  for  his  life,"  and  this  precious  life  every 
man  must,  at  some  time  or  other,  place  under  the  pro 
tection  of  the  physician.  Then  his  family  history, 
their  constitutions  and  predilections,  and  the  vices  and 
indiscretions  of  his  own  youth  or  age  must  be  told, 
perhaps  (and  sometimes  through  fear  he  exaggerates 
them),  and  the  man  stands  before  his  physician  all  ex 
posed,  as  at  the  judgment  bar,  and  finds  himself  utterly 
in  the  power  of  another.  He  discovers  to  another  all 
his  little  meannesses  and  weaknesses,  who  has  hereto 
fore  shrouded  them  almost  even  to  himself.  Yet  it  is 
without  fear  of  consequences.  He  tells  not  only  a 
superior  but  a  friend,  and  waits  with  trembling  hope 
for  his  judgment.  Though  he  never  before  brooked 
direction,  he  now  attends  to  counsels  and  obeys  im 
plicitly.  No  self-denial  is  too  hard,  no  pain  too  severe 
for  him  to  undergo  that  he  may  gain  his  precious 
health.  Poor  creature,  his  physician  is,  perhaps,  to 
him  in  place  of  God  ! 

No  wonder  the  Orientals  and  the  Indians  regarded 

O 

a  physician  as  a  holy  favorite  and  friend  of  the  gods ; 
aifd  Jesus,  the  son  of  Sirach,  saith :  "  Honor  a  physi 
cian  with  the  honor  due  unto  him,  for  the  uses  which 


36  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

ye  may  have  of  him ;  for  the  Lord  hath  created  him. 
For  of  the  Most  High  cometh  healing,  and  he  shall 
receive  honor  of  the  king.  Then  give  place  to  the 
physician — let  him  not  go  from  thee,  for  thou  hast 
need  of  him." 

His  office  is  the  prime  necessity  of  deranged  nature,  and 
the  very  capstone,  next  to  that  of  the  great  Physician  of 
souls,  in  the  new  order  consequent  upon  the  fall  of  man. 
It  rules  over  all,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor.  From 
the  sobs  of  the  loneliest  orphan  babe  that  ever  wailed 
its  life  out  upon  the  midnight  air,  to  the  feeble  gasps  of 
old  age,  and  the  incoherent  mutterings  of  the  mind  dis 
eased — all  fallen,  suffering  nature  calls  to  him  for  help. 
And  yet  he  is  a  man ;  alas,  he  is  but  a  man  !  He  has 
not  been  gifted  with  intellect  superior  to  all  others ; 
has  no  familiar  spirit  to  prompt  him ;  has  entered  into 
no  league  with  Hermes  or  Esculapius.  He  necessarily 
has  doubts  and  waverings,  half-born  ideas,  nervous 
trepidations,  and  bitter  prejudices — more  perhaps  than 
any  other  professional  man ;  and  the  attractions  of 
pleasure  and  the  enticements  of  idleness  have  often, 
it  may  be,  to  his  bitter  regret,  tempted  him  to  neglect 
his  necessary  studies.  His  heart  beats  sad  pulsations 
with  every  cry  of  distress;  and  he  sympathizes  with 
every  pang  of  anxious  love.  In  fine,  he  is  a  man  of 
like  capacities,  frailties,  and  tenderness  with  his  fel 
lows.  What  does  not  the  relationship  involve  with 
him  !  His  honor,  conscience,  pride,  and  all  the  noblest 
attributes  of  his  intellect  and  affections  are  enlisted  in 
his  profession.  Alive  with  all  these,  he  is  called  to 
the  bedside  of  the  dying.  Parents,  children,  friends, 
the  patient,  and  all  the  affections  of  his  own  soul 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  37 

within  him,  call  tumultuously  to  him  for  help.  Over 
whelmed  by  the  fearful  responsibility  of  his  position, 
he  calls  hurriedly  on  nature,  science,  invention,  mem 
ory,  for  help,  but  there  is  no  help.  Expiring  nature 
stretches  out  no  hand ;  science  has  expended  its  knowl 
edge;  invention  has  exhausted  her  expedients;  mem 
ory  tries  a  vain  task ;  and  he  steps  aside  for  death  to 
do  its  work ;  and  unable  to  scan  the  mysterious  de 
crees  of  Providence,  mistrusting  his  own  powers,  and 
doubting  the  truth  of  his  own  science,  he  is  ready  to 
exclaim :  God  alone  can  perfectly  fill  my  office ! 

There  are  improvident  and  brutal  husbands  and 
unfaithful  wives,  unnatural  parents  and  ungrateful 
children,  cruel  masters  and  bad  servants;  that  with 
physicians  and  patients  there  should  be  mutual  infrac 
tions  of  duty,  is  to  be  expected.  This  relationship  has, 
like  the  others,  been  debased  by  many  to  an  aifair  of 
money :  the  one  living  only  to  receive  and  spend  it — 
the  others  thinking  their  whole  duty  performed  when 
they  grumblingly  pay  it.  But  the  true  physician  un 
dergoes  labors  and  sufferings  for  which  money  cannot 
pay;  and  the  right-minded  patient  receives  benefits 
which  he  feels  that  money  cannot  compensate. 

Much  has  been  written  about  the  duties  of  men  in 
other  relationships,  and  in  some  they  have  been  pre 
scribed  by  the  State ;  but  little  has  been  said  about 
medical  ethics,  which  seem  to  have  been  left  to  the 
simple  dictates  of  nature,  while  the  State  has  aban 
doned  its  citizens  to  be  victimized  by  every  idle,  indo 
lent,  ignorant  fellow  who  chooses  to  place  "  Doctor"  be 
fore  his  name.  As  for  quacks,  and  careless  physicians 
(who  are  little  better),  I  cannot  help  but  look  upon 

4 

449817 


3g  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

them  as  the  most  striking  instances  of  the  depravity  of 
man.  Only  their  lack  of  intellect  and  the  bluntness 
of  their  consciences  prevents  their  regarding  themselves 
as  the  most  cold-blooded  of  murderers.  Worse  than 
highwaymen,  they  take  the  money  and  the  life  too. 

The  code  of  medical  morals  involves  in  it,  in  their 
greatest  force,  all  the  requirements  of  the  decalogue  re 
lating  to  the  duties  of  man  to  man.  Its  first  great  rule 
is,  that  the  physician  shall  devote  to  his  profession  all 
his  heart,  soul,  mind,  and  strength,  and  shall  do  no 
thing  to  dishonor  it.  But  when  we  look  at  the  medi 
cal  fraternity  in  this  country,  in  how  many  instances 
do  we  find  this  command  disobeyed !  Pleasure,  busi 
ness,  idleness,  foppery  in  dress  and  equipage,  politics, 
the  pursuit  of  riches  and  rich  wives — in  fine,  every 
occupation,  pursuit,  and  evasion  have  been  practiced 
by  many  from  their  studenthood  up  to  old  age.  "  How 
can  he  get  wisdom  that  holdeth  the  plow,  and  that  glo- 
rieth  in  the  goad,  that  driveth  oxen,  and  is  occupied  in 
their  labors,  and  whose  talk  is  of  bullocks?"  says  the 
son  of  Sirach  when  speaking  of  physicians.  When 
he  reflects  upon  the  variety  and  accuracy  of  the  knowl 
edge  required,  how  can  he  conscientiously  take  under 
his  charge  the  health  and  lives  of  fellow-men,  who  has 
not  devoted  all  his  time  and  energies  to  the  profession  ? 
By  coveting  his  neighbors'  cotton  patches  and  daugh 
ters,  or  by  engaging  too  much  in  other  occupations  to 
the  neglect  of  his  profession,  he  is  guilty  of  killing, 
stealing,  and  often  of  bearing  false  witness. 

This  fundamental  rule  requires,  too,  that  the  physi 
cian  shall  do  nothing  to  dishonor  his  profession.  Yet 
how  much  dishonor  is  cast  upon  it  every  day  by  the 


AMI  A  HAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  39 

pet  nostrums,  idleness,  callousness,  ignorance,  and 
quarrels  of  many  of  the  fraternity !  Fraternity,  indeed ! 
Were  it  not  for  the  respect  I  feel  for  many  of  its  mem 
bers,  I  should  compare  it  to  the  Happy  Family  exhib 
ited  at  the  museums.  Here  is  a  snarling  dog  baying 
a  vicious  cat  upon  the  bars  of  the  cage — there,  a  mali 
cious  monkey  is  slyly  engaged  in  pulling  all  the  pretty 
feathers  out  of  the  tail  of  the  voluble  parrot — here  is  a 
canary  sick  with  mortification  that  its  own  notes  have 
been  imitated  and  improved  upon  by  a  mocking-bird — 
there,  a  lusty  game-cock  is  trying  to  dislodge  a  solemn 
old  owl  from  his  perch ;  while,  on  the  floor,  a  greedy 
drake  gobbles  up  all  the  food,  crying  "quack  !  quack  !" 
Many  physicians  are  great  sticklers  for  etiquette(jbut 
it  is  wonderful  what  crude  notions  they  have  of  it. 
They  have  satisfied  their  delicacy  when  they  do  not 
call  their  dear  brother  "Ass,"  "Fool,"  "Brute,"  and 
"  Quack"  to  his  face.  Behind  his  back  they  fully  sat 
isfy  themselves  for  their  restraint  in  his  presence.  And 
even  when  they  do  not  go  so  far  as  to  villify  with 
words,  they 

'  Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent,  with  civil  leer, 
And  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer." 

The  envy,  jealousy,  backbiting,  and  quarrels  of  physi 
cians  have,  to  the  dishonor  of  the  profession,  been  the 
theme  of  satirists,  play- writers,  and  novelists  for  ages. 
If  I  were  asked  to  point  out  the  physician  who  per 
forms  his  duties  best,  and  who  approaches  nearest  to 
what  a  physician  should  be  in  all  his  relationships — a 
superior  and  a  friend — I  should  select  the  Country 
Doctor,  as  I  remember  my  father. 


40  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

The  veriest  slave,  toiling  in  the  galleys  or  in  the 
mines,  has  not  a  more  laborious  task  than  he.  Night 
and  day,  in  the  winter's  frost  and  summer's  heat, 
through  mud  and  dust,  along  the  highways  and  by 
ways,  through  dark  swamps  and  pleasant  lanes,  he 
toils  on  his  mission,  always  intent,  always  cheerful. 
There  is  no  pleasure  but  he  must  forego  it;  no  obstacle 
but  he  must  overcome  it.  By  continued  use  all  the 
powers  of  his  body  and  mind  have  become  doubly  for 
tified  and  acute.  He  has  pleasant  little  plans  for  keep 
ing  cool,  and  ingenious  methods  of  keeping  warm,  and 
admirable  devices  for  taking  a  nap  in  his  long  rides. 
From  a  broken  buggy  shaft  to  a  broken  leg,  he  is  al 
ways  ready,  though  he  has  neither  blacksmith-shop 
nor  apothecary-shop  at  the  next  corner  to  appeal  to. 
No  emergency  can  discompose  him.  Memory  is  al 
ways  at  her  post,  and  his  invention  bends  even  science 
to  his  will.  Forced  to  be  his  own  cupper,  bleeder,  and 
leecher,  he  pulls  off  his  coat,  rolls  up  his  sleeves,  and 
goes  at  it.  He  blisters  and  glysters,  pulls  teeth,  and 
gives  pills  himself  to  white  and  black.  A  sturdy  phi 
lanthropist,  he  knows  no  respect  of  persons,  and  will 
labor  and  watch  all  night,  equally  in  the  quarter  over 
some  decrepid  old  negro,  and  in  the  big  house  over  the 
master's  son.  Physician,  surgeon,  accoucheur,  dentist, 
apothecary,  and  nurse,  he  travels  along  independently, 
with  his  saddle-bags  and  case  of  instruments,  forced  to 
make  the  whole  science  of  medicine  his  specialty. 

But  there  is  another  side  to  the  picture.  As  he  plys 
his  toilsome  way,  there  is  not  a  negro  he  meets  but  has 
a  ready  bow  and  grin  for  him  whom  he  looks  upon  as 
akin  to  the  gods,  as  his  doctor  and  special  friend.  At 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  41 

his  destination  he  is  met  with  the  warmest  kindness 
and  deepest  respect;  his  very  presence  has  a  charm 
which  brings  relief.  He  attends  now,  perhaps,  in  the 
families  of  those  at  whose  birth  he  assisted,  and  who 
from  their  childhood  have  loved  and  had  faith  in  him. 
As  the  first  friend  of  the  family,  many  are  the  family 
secrets  which  have  been  confided  to  him,  many  the 
anxious  private  consultations  with  him  by  fond  mothers 
and  doting  husbands.  He  knows  the  people,  and 
studies  their  very  souls,  and  he  has  a  place  in  their 
hearts,  and  cares  little  for  the  malicious  jealousy  of 
rivals.  In  his  circuit  everybody  knows  everybody, 
and  he  has  the  health  of  all  in  his  charge,  so  that  he  is 
the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  and  kind  attentions  accom 
pany  him  everywhere.  One  has  to  tell  of  a  mother's 
life  he  has  saved;  another,  of  a  wife's;  another,  of  his 
own ;  one  tells  his  excellence  as  a  surgeon,  another 
lauds  him  as  a  nurse,  while  a  third  speaks  of  his  in 
tegrity  as  a  man;  and  blessings  and  praises  are  be 
stowed  upon  him  from  all  sides.  He  is  the  hardest 
worked,  the  most  faithful,  and  the  least  understood  of 
all  men  in  the  high  resorts  of  science,  but  he  has  a 
compensation  in  all  worth  living  and  laboring  for, 
which  those  who  frequent  those  resorts  might  well 
envy. 

Except  that  the  roads  are  better,  and  the  appliances 
of  science  are  more  perfect  and  more  attainable,  the 
country  doctor  now  exists,  and  must,  for  very  many 
years  to  come,  exist  in  the  South  as  I  have  pictured 
him  in  my  childhood  and  early  youth  ;  and  it  is  for  that 
reason,  and  because  the  most  reverent  love  my  heart 
can  feel  has  always  been  bestowed  on  one  of  the  class, 
4* 


42  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

and  because  I  think  that  the  duties  of  the  relationship 
of  physician  and  patient  are  better  defined,  and  there 
fore  better  filled  in  the  country  than  in  the  city,  that  I 
have  said  so  much  about  the  Country  Doctor. 

Just  to  think,  a  sensitive  nose  and  a  delicate  stomach 
prevented  my  being  a  doctor !  Alas,  what  flimsy  ob 
structions  change  the  currents  of  our  lives  !  A  dislike 
to  discord  has  prevented  my  being  a  good  lawyer,  and 
a  disinclination  to  steady  labor  has  hindered  my  being 
a  musician. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

MY  earliest  recollections  are  of  the  dear  old  house 
we  lived  in.  As  I  recall  it,  every  room  and  every 
piece  of  furniture  has  associated  with  it  something 
pleasing  or  sad  in  my  life.  From  yonder  back  window 
my  mother  pointed  out  to  me  a  great  comet  which 
bade  fair  to  visit  the  earth  when  I  was  about  three 
years  old.  And  I  remember  how  once,  when  I  was 
even  younger  than  that,  this  front  window  was  opened 
to  allow  her  to  gather  for  me  some  china-berries,  cov 
ered  with  sleet.  There  is  my  great-grandfather's  chest 
upon  which  we  children  used  to  be  seated  for  punish 
ment.  In  yonder  corner  of  the  room  took  place  the 
stoutly  contested  struggle  between  my  mother  and  my 
eldest  sister,  then  about  five  years  old,  who  was  deter 
mined  that  her  hair  should  not  be  combed.  She 
screamed,  and  mother  wept,  and  we  all  cried,  and  it 
was  altogether  a  desperate  occasion — but  the  young 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  43 

lady's  obstinacy  was  at  last  conquered,  and  peace  and 
smiles  revisited  a  happy  household. 

But  if  I  set  out  to  narrate  all  my  reminiscences  of 
the  old  house,  I  shall  never  have  done.  In  its  con 
struction,  I  venture  to  say,  that  there  is  no  other  such 
house,  and  that  there  never  has  been,  and  never  will 
be  another  to  resemble  it,  even  in  its  general  appear 
ance  and  situation.  Houses  resemble  in  their  struc 
ture  the  characters  and  dispositions  of  those  who  build 
them,  modified  only  by  the  builders'  circumstances ; 
and  though  there  may  have  been  men  resembling  my 
father,  it  is  not  probable  that  their  circumstances,  in 
the  matter  of  building,  should  also  resemble  his. 

His  land  adjoined  the  corporate  limits  of  the  town 
of  Yatton,  and  was  marvelously  diversified  with  hills 
and  hollows.  Except  in  one  small  bottom,  I  do  not 
believe  there  were  any  two  adjoining  acres  of  it  level. 
I  speak  in  the  past  tense,  because,  though  the  locality 
has  changed  but  little,  I  am  speaking  of  a  time  long 
since  past.  The  soil  was  principally  sand  and  gravel, 
with  substrata  of  red  and  white  ochre,  or  quicksand. 
The  portions  not  sandy  were  red  clay,  and  on  all  of  it 
the  pine  flourished  finely,  springing  up  wherever  the 
original  growth  of  forest  trees  was  cut  down.  A 
cleared  field,  left  uncultivated,  soon  became  a  pine 
thicket,  and  then,  in  a  few  years,  a  pine  forest.  But 
no  place  could  have  suited  my  father  so  well.  The 
water  was  excellent,  and  the  location  convenient  and 
most  healthy;  there  were  no  gnats  or  mosquitoes,  and 
the  poverty  of  the  soil  gave  full  scope  to  his  ingenuity 
and  hopefulness  in  discovering  what  it  was  best  suited 
for,  and  in  making  it  produce  that.  Little  of  it  was 


44  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

suited  for  corn,  but  it  made  excellent  bricks.  Neither 
cotton  nor  oats  would  flourish,  but  with  a  little  manur 
ing  it  could  not  be  excelled  for  potatoes,  pindars,  and 
melons. 

The  great  trouble  was  that  when  the  timber  was  cut 
down,  the  thin  soil  would  disappear  the  first  or  second 
year,  and  the  hills  would  wash  into  deep  gullies  through 
the  strata  of  red,  yellow,  and  white  sand  down  to  the 
ochre,  which  the  water  could  not  wear  away  much 
more  readily  than  it  could  solid  rock.  No  hillside 
ditching,  or  horizontal  plowing,  or  other  method  of 
culture  could  prevent  this  calamity  in  land  so  light, 
and  so  poor  that  it  could  not  produce  sufficient  grass 
to  hold  it  together ;  and  it  was  about  the  only  misfor 
tune  for  which  my  father  could  not  find  some  adequate 
and  evident  physical  or  moral  compensation — though 
I  believe  that  he  increased  his  own  stock  of  patience 
and  resignation  by  it.  At  any  rate,  all  the  philosophic 
appliances  in  the  world  could  not  keep  the  land  from 
washing  when  it  was  bare  of  trees  and  bushes;  and 
though  for  many  years  it  was  his  hobby  to  clear  away 
the  pines  to  let  the  grass  grow,  he  relinquished  the 
plan  of  cultivating  any  but  a  few  small,  favored  spots, 
and,  in  default  of  grass,  left  briers  and  bushes  to  cover 
the  clearings,  where  they  could  do  so,  as  better  food 
for  stock  than  pine  straw;  and  to  that  extent,  though 
it  seemed  a  great  waste  of  timber,  my  father's  plan 
was  wise. 

In  truth,  I  never  knew  him  to  make  a  plan  which 
did  not  have  solid  wisdom  for  a  basis,  though  it  was 
generally  coupled  with  an  "if;"  and,  in  one  way  or 
another,  his  plans  always  resulted  in  some  good, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,   ESQ.  45 

though  seldom  in  that  which  he  had  designed.  If  his 
cider  was  not  good  as  cider,  it  made  capital  vinegar  • 
and  I  remember  a  churning  which  lasted  for  three  cold 
winter  days  by  a  large  fire,  and  which,  though  it  pro 
duced  no  butter,  by  the  addition  of  a  little  sugar  and 
sherry  wine,  made  delicious  syllabub.  Every  child 
about  the  house,  and  each  of  the  negroes  took  a  turn 
at  that  churning,  and,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  we  all  had 
a  syllabub  feast  which  lasted  for  two  days  longer.  The 
taste  of  it  is  yet  in  my  mouth. 

At  the  foot  of  a  gentle  northern  slope,  a  depression 
in  a  ridge,  my  father  found,  when  he  took  possession 
of  the  place,  a  small  farm-house  of  two  rooms,  raised 
upon  posts,  about  three  feet  from  the  ground.  It  faced 
to  the  south,  so  that  the  hill  commenced  to  rise  from 
the  front  door;  and  as  in  about  forty  yards  it  joined 
another  ridge  which  ran  east  and  west,  the  side  of  the 
slope  made  a  long  and  very  pretty  lawn.  From  about 
sixty  feet  on  the  east,  and  ten  feet  on  the  west  side  of 
the  house  the  ridge  descended  rather  abruptly.  In  the 
rear  there  was  a  slight  ascent  for  about  seventy-five 
yards,  when  the  ridge  forked  northeast  and  northwest, 
and  then  ran  to  all  points  of  the  compass.  There  were 
good  springs  of  water  in  the  bottoms  east  and  west  of 
the  house.  To  the  west  the  bottom  and  sides  of  the 
hills  were  covered  with  pine-trees,  for  they  had  once 
been  cleared ;  on  the  east  stood  the  original  growth  of 
poplars,  beeches,  and  oaks,  interspersed  with  dogwood, 
witch-hazels,  sour-wood,  sassafras,  and  huckleberry — 
and  all,  both  forest  trees  and  shrubs,  small  of  their 
kind. 

Why  the  original  builder  of  the  house  placed  it  on 


46  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

this  narrow  neck  of  the  ridge  between  two  acclivities,  is 
more  than  I  ever  could  conjecture,  unless  it  were  that  he 
found  there  already  the  remains  of  an  Indian  wigwam, 
and  was  a  hearty  conservative  in  his  feelings.  But 
there  it  was,  and  it  was  for  my  father  to  take  things  as 
he  found  them  and  make  the  best  of  them.  As  he  cal 
culated,  with  his  usual  hopefulness,  upon  having  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  nature  a  large  family,  it  was  evident 
that  a  house  with  only  two  rooms  would  in  a  very  few 
years  be  insufficient;  and,  besides,  to  have  only  two 
rooms  in  his  house  would  never  have  suited  him  had  he 
been  a  hermit;  for  not  a  barefooted  penitent  or  weary 
wayfarer  could  have  presented  himself  without  being 
welcomed  and  entertained.  Indeed,  his  knack  for  en 
countering  objects  of  pity  on  his  road,  and  his  luck  for 
having  poor  orphan  children  thrown  upon  his  hands  by 
bequest  of  parents,  or  devise  of  circumstances,  was  at 
all  times  extraordinary.  It  seemed  as  though  however 
niggardly  fortune  might  be  in  her  other  gifts,  she  was 
determined  that  at  all  times  his  charity  and  compassion 
should  be  kept  in  lively  exercise.  It  was  an  instance 
of  the  truth  of  the  promise:  "he  that  hath,  to  him  shall 
be  given." 

Another  man  would  most  probably  have  contented 
himself  with  adding  two  or  three  rooms  at  first,  and 
then  others,  if  they  were  needed,  all  upon  the  same 
floor.  But  to  have  added  room  in  that  way  upon  the 
scale  of  my  father's  desire  would  have  required  either 
great  labor  to  extend  the  level  top  of  the  ridge,  or  the 
building  of  some  of  the  rooms  upon  tall  posts  resting 
in  its  side,  which  would  have  been  unsafe,  both  from 
the  rotting  of  the  posts,  and  the  caving  of  the  sandy 


ABU  AH  AN  PAGE,  ESQ.  47 

ground.  So,  as  my  father  could  not  conveniently  and 
safely  spread  his  house  out,  he  determined  to  build  it 
upward.  He  therefore  raised  the  two  rooms  which  had 
a  roof  already  on  them,  and  built  a  brick  story  beneath 
them.  The  result  was  four  rooms,  just  half  enough, 
and  to  get  the  other  four  he  built  them  in  two  stories 
by  the  side  of  the  first,  but  on  a  higher  level,  and  con 
siderably  longer  and  larger,  and,  as  two  roofs  with  the 
eaves  joining  would  have  been  apt  to  leak  badly,  he 
placed  one  large  roof  over  the  whole,  including  within 
it  the  roof  he  found  already  built.  This  gave  the 
structure  a  singular  appearance,  both  inside  and  out, 
but  a  glorious  garret,  which  is  one  of  the  most  essential 
of  rooms  to  such  a  household  as  ours. 

Houses  almost  as  irregular  in  architecture,  but 
hardly  so  comfortable,  may  be  seen  here  and  there 
throughout  the  older  inland  portions  of  the  South. 
They  are  all  the  results  of  circumstances,  and  not  of  a 
want  of  taste — for  the  senses  of  harmony  and  beauty 
in  the  Southern  people  are  exceptionally  acute  and  ac 
curate.  I  speak  not  only  of  the  better  class  of  South 
erners  as  they  now  exist,  but  of  most  of  those  who,  or 
whose  parents,  in  my  day  had  so  far  overcome  the  first 
requirements  of  subduing  a  wilderness  as  to  be  able  to 
indulge  their  fancy  or  talent  in  architecture,  music, 
ornamental  gardening,  equipage,  or  dress.  And  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  features  of  their  taste  is  that  in 
nothing  do  they  incline  to  the  gaudy,  or,  to  use  a  very 
expressive  French  word,  the  eblouissant.  A  Southern 
lady,  h,owever  fine  may  be  the  material  of  her  dress,  is 
always  modestly  and  neatly  attired ;  and,  if  she  follow 
the  fashion,  as  indeed  all  ladies  must  and  will,  she 


48  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

deftly  and  quietly  snips  away  its  redundancies,  and 
adds  a  little  to  its  lack,  so  that  modesty  and  fashion 
are  blended  you  see  but  know  not  how.  For  it  to  be 
otherwise  would  ill  suit  her  manners;  for  retiring  gen 
tleness  and  modesty  are  her  glorious  veil  from  child 
hood  to  old  age.  So  too  in  architecture,  the  showy  is 
generally  avoided  by  old  Southern  families,  and  music 
in  a  minor  key  is  most  generally  loved — though  that, 
so  far  as  my  observation  extends,  is  common  to  all  hu 
man  nature,  as  it  well  may  be.  I  had  a  sister  who 
when  she  was  only  a  few  weeks  old  would  pucker  up 
her  little  mouth  and  weep  piteously  when  one  sang  to 
her  any  of  the  plaintive  melodies  so  common  in  my 
young  days  to  our  religious  music.  She  grew  to  be  a 
lovely  young  woman,  and  died  with  all  her  goodness, 
purity,  and  beauty  unsullied  by  the  cares  and  even  the 
knowledge  of  the  evil  in  the  world.  I  feel  certain  that 
her  impressibility  to  sad  music  is  not  rare  with  children, 
and  we  know  that  with  all  races  of  people  the  earliest, 
uncultivated  music  is  of  that  character.  It  is  useless 
to  try  to  account  for  it  cither  by  association,  or  deli 
cacy  of  nervous  organization.  Neither  the  child  nor 
the  savage  can  have  any  such  association,  and  why 
should  B  flat  affect  uncultivated  natures  more  than  C 
sharp  ?  It  would  seem  that  the  songs  of  the  sons  of 
God  from  the  hills  of  heaven  still  lingered,  faint  and 
solemn  by  distance,  in  the  ears  of  Eve's  children. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  49 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHILE  I  would  fain  linger  with  the  memories  of 
my  earliest  days,  and  tell  the  most  of  them,  I 
know  that  to  do  so  would  serve  no  purpose  of  good  to 
others,  and  would  make  my  life  take  up  more  room 
than  those  of  all  Plutarch's  heroes,  with  Fox's  Book  of 
Martyrs  thrown  in.  What  a  dreadful  book,  by-the- 
by,  is  the  latter  !  With  one  picture  (in  another  book) 
of  the  Last  Judgment,  where  the  angels  with  swords 
in  their  hands  are  separating  a  vast  multitude  into  two 
parts,  this,  standing  calm,  and  that,  cowering  or  running 
affrighted,  it  was  my  principal  sensational  object  when 
I  was  very  young;  nor,  indeed,  can  I  yet  look  at  either 
of  them  wholly  unmoved.  It  is,  I  suppose,  the  most 
effective  "  Tract"  which  has  ever  been  published,  and 
used  to  be  almost  as  common  in  the  country  as  the 
Bible.  However  short  it  may  come  of  inculcating 
charity,  its  warnings  of  the  strength  and  certainty  of 
religious  intolerance  when  a  Sect  becomes  joined  to  the 
State,  or  gets  greatly  the  upper  hand  in  numbers  and 
power,  are  most  excellent.  It  is  as  common  to  human 
nature  to  worship  the  Idol  of  the  Sect,  as  it  is  for  it  to 
be  selfish ;  and  the  worship  of  that  idol  grows  faster, 
and  to  a  more  intense  enthusiasm,  than  the  religion 
composed  of  the  gentle  virtues  of  charity  and  faith. 
With  another  volume,  containing  the  Roman  Catholic 
Martyrdoms,  it  would  be  one  of  the  most  wholesome  of 

5  D 


50  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

books  for  the  present  day — to  excite  terror  in  youth  for 
matter  of  reflection  in  age. 

My  childhood  was  that  of  most  eldest  sons  of  refined 
and  pious  parents — that  is,  I  received  finer  clothes  and 
more  switchings  than  any  of  my  successors.  I  now 
know  that  my  punishments  were  even  more  painful  to 
my  dear  little  mother,  than  they  were  to  me.  She 
used  to  try  to  impress  that  fact  upon  my  mind,  but  I 
took  it  as  an  ingenious  sort  of  excuse  for  doing  what 
she  secretly  took  a  delight  in.  Skin  and  mind  were 
both  too  tender  to  appreciate  her  motives,  but  it  was 
certainly  a  sore  matter  to  both  of  us.  All  the  correction 
devolved  upon  her,  for  my  father  was  too  much  absent 
from  home  in  the  practice  of  his  profession  to  see  my 
little  mischiefs  and  note  the  germs  of  my  weaknesses 
or  viciousnesses  of  character.  Besides,  the  dear  little 
woman  could  not  see  why  her  son,  so  pure  in  flesh  and 
loving  in  spirit,  should  not  remain  pure  and  loving, 
and  be  a  saint,  or,  at  least,  a  model.  It  was  well 
enough  to  tell  her  that  "  boys  will  be  boys ;"  she  did  not 
know  what  a  boy's,  or  rather  what  human,  nature  was. 
The  slightest  deviation  from  truth  was  to  her  imagina 
tion  the  opening  of  the  floodgates  of  all  the  torrent  of 
crimen  falsi :  and  cruelty  to  a  fly  was  the  very  amuse 
ment  Nero  indulged  in  when  he  was  a  child.  Had  she 
punished  me  in  passion,  the  effects  would  have  been 
disastrous,  but  that  she  never  did.  Her  inflictions  were 
very  often  with  tears,  or  she  would  make  me  kneel  with 
her  and  would  pray  with  me  after  them;  and  though  I, 
in  my  pain  and  passion,  often  thought  both  tears  and 
prayers  a  grim  farce,  it  is  clear  to  my  mind  that  they 
had  a  more  beneficial  effect  from  the  whipping,  and  that 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  51 

they  made  the  whipping  more  impressive.  But  I 
thought  then,  and  still  think,  that  being  switched  so 
often,  however  lovingly  done,  was  almost  too  much  of 
a  good  thing. 

There  was  a  difference  of  two  years  between  me  and 
my  eldest  sister,  Julia ;  and  about  the  same  between 
the  births  of  the  succeeding  children.  I  do  not  de 
scribe  each  of  them  here  because  it  would  too  much 
resemble  a  catalogue  raisonee,  and  because  I  am  not 
writing  their  lives,  but  my  own.  They  came  into  the 
world  bright,  healthy  creatures,  lived  bright,  healthy 
lives,  and  died  with  fervent  hopes  and  confidence  in 
the  future.  I  have  often  been  tempted  to  exclaim :  the 
most  lovely  die,  and  such  as  I  live  on  !  But  such  a 
sentiment  is  humbug.  There  are  plenty  of  good  and 
lovely  men  and  women  who  live  to  old  age,  and  a  vast 
number  of  probable  scamps  who  die  in  infancy.  "  Whom 
the  gods  love,  die  young,"  is  a  cynical  old  proverb, 
which  may  be  more  than  offset  by  saying:  whom  the 
gods  have  any  use  for,  live  till  it  is  accomplished.  It 
may  be  a  blessing  to  die  young,  and  it  may  be  a  bless 
ing  to  live  to  old  age.  The  natural,  and  therefore  the 
better  preference  is  to  live ;  but,  after  all,  it  is  best  to 
be  ready  and  willing  to  submit  to  God's  direction  about 
the  matter. 

When  I  learned  my  alphabet,  my  Ableselfa  and  Am- 
pezant,  I  do  not  remember ;  but  I  recall  very  well  the 
first  time  my  mother  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me 
to  good  old  Mrs.  Diggory's  girls'  school,  and  left  me 
there,  a  wondering,  restless,  grieved  little  martyr.  The 
old  lady  lived  and  kept  school  (1  use  the  word  kept, 
advisedly)  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  our 


52  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

house.  Her  pupils  were  girls,  from  five  to  seventeen 
years  of  age,  and  I  was  the  only  boy  she  could  be  in 
duced  to  take.  What  she  taught  me  principally  was 
to  hold  my  tongue  and  keep  still,  the  two  most  import 
ant  lessons  of  any  one's  education,  and  the  least  apt  to 
be  practiced,  however  thoroughly  learned.  Her  best 
remembered  lesson,  however,  was  how  it  felt  to  be 
switched  before  a  crowd  of  tittering,  weeping,  sympa 
thizing,  and  malevolent  school  girls.  Its  terror,  anguish, 
and  shame  made  a  deep  impression  upon  me,  and 
though  my  pain,  like  that  of  a  pig,  bore  no  proportion 
to  the  noise  I  made,  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  see 
the  comical  side  to  the  scene.  I  had  torn  my  geogra 
phy,  and  the  good  old  lady,  for  she  was  a  lady  if  there 
ever  was  one,  switched  me  only  after  solemn  consult 
ation  with  myjsarents,  who  themselves  pronounced 
the  sentence.  (jBut  to  whip  one  child  before  other 
children,  whether  its  companions  or  not,  is  wrong.  It 
gives  a  shock  to  its  self-respect  from  which  it  can 
never  wholly  recover?  It  is  common  to  repeat  flip 
pantly  that  early  impressions  are  lasting ;  but  there 
are  few  who  reflect  how  very  lasting  and  important 
they  are.  One  night,  when  I  was  five  or  six  years 
old,  my  father  took  me  up  in  his  arms,  and  pointing  to 
the  stars  told  me  of  the  immensity  of  the  universe,  and 
the  greatness  and  goodness  of  its  Creator,  and  though 
I  necessarily  understood  but  little,  the  feeling  of  awe 
and  sublimity  was  implanted  in  my  soul  never  to 
leave  it. 

The  next  school  I  remember  was  that  of  young 
Mr.  Jones,  who  taught  for  a  support  while  he  was 
studying  law.  I  must  have  learned  very  little  from 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  53 

him,  as  I  do  not  even  remember  what  I  studied ;  but 
one  of  the  larger  boys  introduced  to  me  the  sensation 
of  being  called  a  thief,  and  threatened  with  the  jail, 
kept  by  his  uncle,  the  sheriff  of  the  county.  It  was  all 
about  a  slate-pencil,  or  some  such  matter,  which  I  cer 
tainly  had  not  taken  ammo  furandi,  for  I  did  not  even 
know  what  such  a  spirit  was,  but  my  confusion  and 
terror  were  great.  One  of  the  most  foolish,  wicked, 
and  cruel  of  the  exertions  of  power  is  to  bring  railing 
accusations  and  threats  against  a  child. 

My  next  school  I  remember  perfectly  well,  for  in  it 
I  received  most  of  my  school-book  education,  and 
gained  an  experience  which,  with  a  great  deal  of  suU- 
sequent  observation,  qualifies  me  to  give  a  respectable 
opinion  about  schools  and  education  generally.  The 
first  teacher,  or  rather  master,  was  a  Mr.  James  Dill, 
or  "Old  Dill,"  as  we  called  him,  an  ecclesiastical  strip 
ling,  who  afterward  developed  into  a  rotund  parson, 
and  after  a  number  of  shiftings  from  pulpit  to  pulpit, 
took  up  an  idea  that  he  had  a  call  to  the  heathen,  and 
so,  for  aught  I  know,  got  himself  turned  into  roasts 
and  steaks  by  some  Cannibal  Islander.  The  mis 
sionary  spirit  was  extremely  ardent  when  it  began  its 
sway  in  our  country,  and  Old  Dill  was  not  really  old 
when  he  obeyed  its  promptings  —  was  still  young 
enough  to  relish  adventure  and  his  ease  beneath  palms 
and  bananas  in  foreign  lands,  where  labor  was  little 
needed. 

That  he  was  the  most  indolent  man  I  have  ever 
seen,  is  my  full  conviction,  and  it  may  be  well  imagined 
that  his  discipline  of  a  large  "old  field  "  school  of  coun 
try  boys  and  girls  of  all  ages,  was  of  a  lax  character, 
5* 


54  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

and  his  instructions  of  very  little  permanent  value.  It 
was  under  his  direction  that  I  plunged  (to  this  day) 
hopelessly  into  the  mysteries  of  Latin  and  Greek.  I 
learned  the  Latin  grammar  by  heart,  went  through 
Deus  creavit  caelum  et  terram,  in  sex  dies,  and 
through  Omnia  Gallia  in  almost  as  little  time,  to  be 
cast  with  Tityrus  playing  on  his  reed  sub  tegmine  fagi, 
which  bothered  me  prodigiously,  and  I  always  thought 
a  stupid  operation.  I  learned  it  all,  and  understood 
none  of  it,  for  he  was  too  lazy  to  explain,  and  seven 
years  is  not  the  age  at  which  one  teaches  himself  the 
reasons  and  niceties  of  a  language;  and  as  I  became 
older  I  was  so  imbued  with  disgust  and  fear  of  the  dif 
ficulties  I  encountered,  that  it  was  repulsive  to  me  to 
analyze  and  reflect  upon  them.  The  consequence  was 
that  though  I  amo-ed  and  tupto-ed  very  glibly,  I  hated 
Latin  and  Greek,  and  hardly  think  I  ever  afterwards 
coukl  have  learned  them  had  I  tried.  Mr.  Dill  was  a 
good  scholar,  but,  with  all  his  indolence,  was  impa 
tient,  so  that  all  one  had  to  do  was  to  balk  at  a  word 
once  or  twice,  when,  lounging  in  his  easy  chair,  he 
would  give  its  meaning  instead  of  making  the  boy  re 
fer  to  the  dictionary;  and  if  a  great  bungle  were  made 
he  was  almost  certain  to  translate  the  whole  sentence, 
and  perhaps  all  the  lesson,  and  send  the  boy  to  his  seat 
pouting  and  gratified. 

The  school-house  was  in  a  grove  of  pine-trees  near  a 
field,  about  half  a  mile  from  the  town,  and  a  little  over 
a  mile  from  our  house.  I  remember  certain  beech  roots 
along  the  path  I  had  to  go,  upon  which  I  Avas  con 
stantly  stumping  my  toes — one  of  which  was  kept  sore 
through  every  warm  season  when  I  went  barefooted. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  55 

The  house  contained  only  one  large  room,  built  of  logs 
and  elevated  on  blocks.  It  had  a  mud  chimney,  with 
a  capacious  fireplace,  and  seven  windows,  four  of  them 
with  glazed  sash,  and  the  others  closed  only  by  board 
shutters,  and  as  the  floor  was  of  heavy  puncheons,  not 
very  closely  joined,  there  was  plenty  of  ventilation. 
The  play-grounds  varied  with  the  seasons ;  that  of  the 
girls  was  always  near  the  house,  but  during  the  spring 
and  summer  months  the  boys  spent  most  of  their  re 
cesses  from  twelve  M.  to  two  P.M.  at  or  near  a  swim 
ming  hole  in  the  creek  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below 
the  school-house.  It  was  called  "Bryant's  hole,"  from 
the  name  of  the  owner  of  the  surrounding  land,  and 
was  the  place  near  or  in  which  most  of  the  school  fights 
were  decided,  and  where  more  than  one  generation  of 
boys  learned  to  swim.  They  learned  other  things,  too, 
which  were  pernicious,  and  I  cannot  think  that  it  is 
ever  a  good  plan  to  allow  boys  to  expose  their  persons 
promiscuously,  as  must  necessarily  bo  the  case  where 
a  whole  school  goes  swimming  together. 

An  assemblage  of  children  of  all  kinds  of  parents  at 
a  school  is  about  as  hazardous  a  position  as  any  one 
can  place  his  child  in.  If  one  be  vicious  or  filthy  in 
manners  or  conversation,  all  run  the  risk  of  contamina 
tion,  and  some  will  certainly  be  contaminated — for  all 
children  are  imitative,  and  most  of  them  have  an  affi 
nity  for  the  lewd  and  vulgar,  which,  to  say  the  least  of 
it,  places  them  in  great  danger.  Our  school  was  gen 
erally  composed  of  about  fifteen  girls  and  twenty-five 
boys,  from  seven  to  seventeen  years  of  age ;  and 
though  I  do  not  recollect  that  any  one  of  them  was 
particularly  vicious,  I  do  know  that  my  own  imagina- 


56  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

tion  was  there  first  vitiated — not  so  much  by  hearing 
or  seeing  what  was  wicked  in  itself,  as  by  hearing  and 
seeing  things  innocent  in  themselves,  but  with  secrecy, 
and  as  though  they  were  wicked.  To  the  pure  all 
things  are  pure ;  but  the  purest  facts  may  be  made  the 
instruments  of  impurity  when  communicated  as  though 
they  were  forbidden.  The  idea  of  vice  which  is  con 
veyed  with  the  fact  into  the  child's  mind  can  never  be 
overcome,  and  what  he  may  learn  with  perfect  inno 
cence  by  frankness,  and  must  learn  in  after-life,  is  made 
a  source  of  disquiet  to  his  conscience  and  evil  to  his 
imagination.  Parents  should  bear  this  in  mind,  and 
treat  their  children  with  more  frankness  than  they 
usually  do.  If  they  were  themselves  more  innocent, 
they  would  do  so.  If  you  teach  your  daughter  that  it 
is  wrong  to  say  "mare"  or  "bull,"  you  may  be  certain 
she  will  find  out  all  the  possible  reasons  for  it. 

My  first  serious  fight  was  with  Tom  Bradford,  who 
was  a  little  older  and  stouter  than  I  was,  a  red-headed, 
freckled-faced  boy,  whose  hair  was  always  cut  short, 
he  told  me,  for  safety  in  fighting,  and  who  was  fond  of 
rolling  his  eyes  and  putting  out  his  tongue  at  the  girls 
both  in  and  out  of  class.  It  was  his  kind  of  humor. 
He  imposed  upon  me  because  I  was  gentle  and  for 
bearing  in  my  disposition,  and  abhorred  fracas  of  any 
kind.  I  had,  too,  taken  up  the  idea  that  it  was  wrong 
to  fight,  and  that  I  should  offend  my  parents  by  doing 
so — but  the  matter  of  his  tyranny  came  to  my  mother's 
knowledge,  and  she  conjectured  the  reasons  for  it,  so 
one  day  she  told  me  sternly  what  she  had  heard,  and, 
moreover,  if  she  ever  again  heard  of  my  being  imposed 
upon  without  fighting  my  best,  she  would  certainly 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  tf 

whip  me  severely.  The  next  day  master  Tom  was 
rather  surprised  and  loth  when  he  found  me  eager  to 
quarrel  and  fight;  but  fight  we  did,  and  my  will  was 
so  great  that  I  took  full  indemnity  for  the  past.  As  he 
was  the  only  bully  among  the  small  boys,  I  had  peace 
thereafter  from  them,  and  from  the  larger  bullies  I  was 
always  protected  by  William  Parker,  the  biggest  boy 
in  school,  who  had  a  liking  for  me.  He  was  my  beau 
ideal.  I  thought  him  the  most  amiable,  bravest,  and 
smartest  boy  that  ever  lived,  and  loved  him  just  as  the 
weak  and  affectionate  love  heroes.  I  remember  crying 
heartily  when  he  was  quitting  the  school  and  came  to 
take  away  his  books  and  slate  ;  and  our  friendship 
lasted  as  long  as  he  lived,  for  he  lived,  a  plain  hearty 
planter,  to  dandle  at  least  four  grandchildren  in  his 
arms. 

There  were  several  of  the  boys  who  made  a  lasting 
impression  on  my  memory.  One  of  them  was  Herbert 
Langley,  who  used  to  wear  just  such  multi-buttoned 
jackets  as  did  my  cousin  Fitzroy,  and  who  was  a  regu 
lar  Miss  Nancy,  as  the  boys  delighted  to  call  him.  He 
was  the  only  child  of  a  widow,  who  made  some  pre 
tensions  to  wealth,  and  many  to  fine  manners.  Her 
boy  was  taught  that  he  was  too  nice  to  play  at  rough 
games,  and  too  genteel  to  play  with  rough  boys.  He 
was  not  too  nice,  however,  to  eat  his  own  luncheon 
off  in  a  corner,  and  yet  beg  from  others  whatever 
tempted  a  greedy  appetite ;  nor  was  he  too  genteel  to 
do  servilely  whatever  a  larger  boy  bade  him,  cry  most 
contemptibly  loud  whenever  Old  Dill  paddled  his  hand, 
and  quarrel  with  the  little  girls  upon  every  trivial  oc 
casion.  In  spite  of  his  fine  clothes  and  rosy  cheeks, 


58  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

but  one  girl,  little  Jane  Hopkins,  liked  him.  Those 
advantages  first  attracted  her,  and  her  affection  was 
rather  added  to  than  decreased  by  the  laughter  and 
opposition  it  received  from  the  other  girls.  The  widow, 
his  mother,  moved  away  from  our  town  in  a  few  years, 
and  I  never  heard  of  them  afterward.  I  believe  they 
went  to  their  relations  in  Philadelphia,  where  she  had 
been  raised,  and  had  learned  manners. 

Another  boy  was  Stanley  Kuggles,  who  lived  to 
within  the  last  ten  years,  and  of  whom  I  never  lost 
sight  from  our  childhood.  As  he  and  his  had  rather 
more  to  do  with  the  aft'airs  of  my  life  than  was  at  all 
times  agreeable,  I  must  needs  describe  him  as  a  boy. 
He  was,  I  think,  the  handsomest  and  most  selfish  boy 
I  ever  saw.  His  ruddy  complexion,  bright  blue  eyes, 
white  and  even  teeth,  brown  curls,  slender  and  elegant 
form,  feet  and  hands,  were  the  admiration  of  all,  my 
self  included.  He  was  manly  enough  looking,  but  had 
a  great  many  prettinesses  in  his  manners,  and  was  very 
pettish.  All  his  life  he  lacked  sincerity  and  manliness. 
His  affection  was  often  almost  maudlin,  but  it  never 
could  be  depended  upon.  The  dearest  friend  of  the 
morning  was,  unconsciously,  the  meanest  of  human 
beings  before  night;  and  the  bitterest  enemy  of  one 
week  was  the  most  loved  associate  of  the  next,  if  his 
friendship  would  in  any  way  forward  master  Stanley's 
projects,  but  when  no  longer  useful,  was  discarded 
upon  some  trivial  pretense,  and  discovered  that  the  old 
grudge  had  only  been  concealed. 

He  was  about  two  years  older  and  much  taller  than 
I.  Although  he  was  not  his  mother's  eldest  child,  he 
was  her  pet,  and  she  always  seemed  to  consider  me  as 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  59 

his  rival,  in  everything  but  good  looks,  and  regarded 
me  with  a  jealous  eye  accordingly.  Why  it  should 
have  been  so,  or  why  she  should  always  have  pre 
tended  to  be  one  of  my  mother's  dearest  friends,  and 
yet  have  made  the  worst  of  all  she  or  any  of  her  chil 
dren  might  do  or  say  imprudently,  and  have  depreciated 
all  her  and  their  excellencies,  is  more  than  I  have  ever 
been  able  to  discover.  But  so  it  was.  From  the  ear 
liest  time  I  can  remember,  she  always  professed  the 
warmest  friendship,  misrepresented  us  with  the  great 
est  commiseration,  and  thwarted  us  when  she  could 
secretly  do  so. 

Another  schoolmate  was  Fred  Coons;  we  always 
called  him  Fritz  Coony.  He  was  a  heavy,  Dutch- 
looking  boy,  the  son  of  a  German  tanner,  whose  tan- 
yard  was  not  far  from  our  house,  and  was  always  to 
me  a  place  for  wonder  and  disgust.  To  this  day  I  can 
not  eat  Gruyere  cheese  for  thinking  of  old  Mr.  Coons's 
tan  vats.  Fritz  was  not  strong  at  his  books,  but  Avas 
quite  a  mechanical  genius,  and  was  noted  for  his  huge 
kites,  his  whirligigs,  windmills,  and  cottage-like  martin 
boxes.  His  father  put  him  to  no  trade,  and  he  became 
clerk  of  one  of  the  courts,  lived  frugally,  and  died  leav 
ing  a  poor  widow  with  a  large  family,  in  a  small  mar 
tin-box  of  a  cottage,  the  very  picture  of  neatness. 
Poor  Fritz  1  his  mind  was  narrowed  by  his  sense  of 
order,  a  mere  mechanical  sense,  and  he  thought  more 
of  keeping  his  books  neat  than  of  collecting  his  fees. 
He  might  have  become  a  fine  mechanician,  but  was 
contented  to  be  an  orderly  clerk,  and  could  relieve  his 
exacerbations  of  genius  by  the  manufacture  of  toy 
windmills,  running  gang-saws,  or  miniature  pumps. 


60  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 


CHAPTER    VI. 

OF  course  I  had  a  sweetheart  at  Mr.  Dill's  school. 
It  has  been  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  of  my  life 
that  I'have  never  been  out  of  love  for  any  considerable 
length  of  time.  Some  persons  say  that  no  one  can 
really  love  but  once — an  opinion  which  not  only  bears 
unjustly  upon  widows  and  widowers  who  marry  again, 
but  is,  providentially,  totally  false.  Indeed,  if  it  were 
true,  there  would  be  vastly  little  conjugal  love  in  this 
climate,  for  very  few  ever  marry  their  first  loves.  How  it 
maybe  in  some  tropical  countries,  where  marriages  take 
place  at  the  age  of  nine  years,  I  do  not  know.  I  sup 
pose  the  same  providential  arrangement  obtains  there. 
But  whatever  may  be  the  general  truth  of  the  saying, 
I  indignantly  deny  its  applicability  to  me.  I  have  been 
fervently  in  love  at  least  a  score  of  times,  and  it  would 
be  a  slur  upon  my  capacity  for  affection,  and  a  poor 
compliment  to  my  knowledge  of  myself,  if  I  should 
consider  that  my  love  was  not  each  time  real  and 
earnest.  One  love  has  been  more  holy  and  intense  on 
account  of  its  fruition,  but  all  were  real,  and  for  each 
object  I  have  to  this  day  a  tenderness  of  respect  I  do 
not  have  for  the  memory  of  other  girls  and  women. 
When  I  see  the  pretty  granddaughters  of  Molly  Higgins, 
who  was  my  sweetheart  at  Mr.  Dill's  school,  I  feel  the 
more  kindly  to  them  that  I  loved  their  grandmother, 
though  it  was  but  a  schoolboy's  passion.  She  was  only 
six  years  older  than  I,  had  a  sweet,  pretty  face,  and  a 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  61 

lithe,  active  figure.  I  thought  her  perfection,  and  when 
I  discovered  that  she  had  a  mole  as  large  as  my  hand 
on  her  right  shoulder  just  beneath  where  the  collar  of 
her  dress  came,  I  fancied  even  that  to  be  a  beauty  spot, 
and  the  hairs  growing  in  it  became  as  precious  to  me 
as  threads  of  gold.  It  matters  little  what  may  be  the 
defects  of  body  of  those  we  love  ;  even  their  vices  are 
apt  to  be  excused  as  marks  of  genius,  or,  at  worst,  as 
sume  the  character  of  inconveniences.  You  revolt  to 
see  one  clasp  the  form  and  kiss  the  lips  of  a  dead  per 
son,  and  yet  to  him  oc  her  death  has  lost  its  loathsome 
ness,  and  is  only  abhorrent  for  depriving  the  dear  one 
of  the  power  to  respond  to  the  accents  and  caresses  of 
love.  The  once  warm  living  love  seems  still  to  glorify 
the  dead  flesh,  as  the  vivid  flash  of  lightning  still 
lingers  on  the  retina  after  darkness  reigns  around. 

Molly  married  an  honest  tailor  long  before  I  quit 
school,  and  there  would  have  been  no  great  disparity 
had  I  married  her  eldest  daughter. 

When  I  think  of  the  probable  consequences  if  I  had 
married  anyone  of  the  girls  I  loved  and  who  afterward 
married  other  men,  I  am  as  much  astounded  at  the  good 
fortune  of  my  escape,  as  thankful  for  the  blessing  of 
having  loved  with  all  the  gentle  ennobling  feelings  a 
real  love  induces.  Mary  Jane  Snodgrass,  for  instance, 
became  a  fat,  frowzy,  ^bberly  woman,  who  had  two 
children — a  crippled  girl,  and  a  boy  who  was  a  fool ; 
and  though  to  have  married  her  would  have  been  bad 
enough,  it  would  perhaps  have  been  far  better  than  to 
have  had  for  a  wife  Ann  Jenkins,  who  had  thirteen 
children,  the  most  of  whom  were  girls  and  lived.  Then 
there  was  Lucy  Ann  Jones,  who  not  only  had  con- 

6 


C2  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

sumption  herself,  but  gave  it  to  her  husband,  who,  poor 
creature,  driveled  away  his  last  days  between  cough 
ing,  and  grieving  for  her,  and  whining  about  his  poor 
orphans.  And  his  fate  was  even  better  than  that  of 
the  husband  of  Peggy  Hartwell,  whose  tongue  kept 
him  in  perpetual  torment,  while  his  neighbors  were 
little  less  tormented  by  the  five  red-headed  boys  she 
bore  to  him. 

And  so  I  can  go  through  the  list ;  for  it  has  been  my 
fortune  to  see  most  of  my  young  loves  after  they  be 
came  "  ageable"  women,  and  to  know  the  fate  of  all  of 
them ;  and  though  they  were  all  estimable  in  their  way, 
when  I  compare  my  actual  fate  with  what  it  might 
have  been  had  I  succeeded  in  what  my  soul  most  ar 
dently  desired  in  each  case,  I  can  but  feel  grateful. 
"  Oh  1"  would  I  sigh  to  myself,  "  I  must  marry  my  dear 
Molly"  (or  Peggy,  or  whichever  it  might  be) ;  "  I  must 
marry  her,  or  die  broken-hearted. "  But  she  saw  nothing 
desirable  about  me,  and  I  danced,  perhaps  lackadaisi 
cally,  at  her  wedding  with  one  I  (of  course)  knew  to 
be  my  inferior,  and  thanked  my  stars  when  I  saw  my 
next  charmer  that  my  cherished  hopes  had  been 
blasted. 

And  yet  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  everyone  of  my  suc 
cessful  rivals  who  lived  to  see  his  wife  an  old  woman 
thought  her  a  very  comely  old  lady,  and,  except  in  mo 
ments  of  freeze  or  hurricane,  was  perfectly  contented  with 
his  lot.  CThe  fact  is  that  when  a  man  marries  a  virtuous 
woman,  he,  in  a  thousand  cases  to  one,  gets  a  wife 
better  than  himself,  whatever  may  be  her  faults  of 
'temper);  and  in  about  a  thousand  cases  to  one  he  gets 
the  partner  who  best  suits  the  necessities  of  his  mental 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  63 

and  moral  nature.  Xantippe  gave  the  final  polish  to 
the  wisdom  of  Socrates  ;  but  for  the  thirteen  children, 
the  husband  of  Ann  Jenkins  would  have  been  of  no 
account ;  but  for  Peggy  Hartweli's  tongue,  the  conceit 
of  her  husband  would  have  been  unbearable ;  and  if 
James  Hodgson  had  not  married  Lucy  Ann  Jones, 
he  would  have  died,  long  before  he  did,  of  delirium 
tremens. 

Molly  Higgins  left  the  school  about  the  time  Old  Dill 
quit  us.  We  all  had  a  notion  that  he  was  in  love  with 
her  himself;  and  the  suspicion  excited  my  ill  will,  and 
often  made  me  act  in  a  captious  manner,  which  must 
have  puzzled  him  had  he  not  been  too  indolent  to  re 
mark  it;  but  his  taking  orders  and  moving  away  dis 
pelled  every  such  idea,  and  I  found  myself  at  the  same 
time  under  the  necessity  of  changing  master  and  mis 
tress.  Though  for  a  few  days  I  was  disconsolate  on 
her  account,  the  bustle  and  novelty  of  having  his 
place  supplied  distracted  my  pangs  somewhat,  and  by 
the  time  we  were  fairly  settled,  Sally  Selsby,  a  sprightly 
girl  of  nearer  my  own  age,  had  aroused  and  pleased  my 
fancy,  and  had  been  given  possession  of  my  heart.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  a  preacher,  and  therefore,  no 
doubt,  had  a  larger  share  of  the  attentions  of  the  devil 
than  other  girls — for  it  stands  to  reason  that  the  more 
perfect  the  character  to  be  supported,  the  greater  the 
difficulties  and  temptations.  But  she  was  an  amiable, 
impulsive  girl,  who,  to  the  end  of  her  life,  which  was 
short,  was  as  innocent  of  guile  as  though  Eve  had 
never  heard  the  whispers  of  Satan,  and  conferred  as 
much  pure  pleasure  as  though  she  had  been  an  angel 
sent  to  play  a  little  while  with  mortals. 


64  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

She  was  the  first,  but  not  the  last  preacher's  daugh 
ter  I  have  loved,  and  I  must  say  that  I  always  remem 
ber  with  peculiar  pleasure  my  experience  with  them, 
and  if  I  had  a  son,  would  recommend  his  courting  one 
or  two,  grown  ones,  to  complete  his  assortment  of 
studies  of  human  nature.  Satan  seems  to  manoeuvre 
always  by  taking  advantage  of  their  poverty  or  pre 
cision,  or  both,  to  lead  them  up  into  high  mountains. 
If  "to  the  hungry  soul  every  bitter  thing  is  sweet," 
how  much  sweeter  are  sweet  things,  and  therefore  the 
lust  of  the  eye,  in  the  way  of  dress  and  other  finery, 
and  the  pride  of  life  in  the  forms  of  hierarchical  posi 
tion,  attack  with  double  force  those  who  either  cannot, 
or  should  not  indulge  in  finery  or  pride.  The  conse 
quence  is  that  they  and  their  mothers  are  generally, 
when  they  try  to  do  their  duty,  vastly  troubled  about 
many  things ;  and  between  the  feelings  of  "  I  will  and 
I  won't ;  I'll  be  damned  if  I  do,  and  I'll  be  damned  if 
I  don't,"  a  piquancy  is  added  to  their  characters,  a 
spiciness  to  their  humility,  and  a  subdued  flavor  to  their 
spiciness,  which  is  truly  refreshing,  but  sometimes  an 
noying.  Sometimes  they  find  that  so  many  things 
in  the  world  are  wrong,  they  give  up  trying  to  choose 
only  the  right,  but  that  is  not  often  ;  and  I  have  rarely 
knowrn  the  daughter  of  a  really  good  preacher  who  did 
not  turn  out  to  be  an  ambitious,  hard-working  wife, 
very  prim  and  orderly  after  her  fashion,  and  with  a  hard 
temper  of  her  own,  upon  occasion. 

The  very  peculiar  difficulties  which  beset  the  families 
of  preachers  may  be  wrought  into  a  fair  argument 
against  the  propriety  of  there  being  such  a  caste  as 
that  of  clergy  in  the  world.  They  constitute,  for  ob- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  65 

v'ous  reasons,  no  argument  against  the  marriage  of 
preachers,  but  only  against  their  existence  as  a  caste. 

However,  I  ma}^  return  to  that  subject  hereafter,  at 
a  more  fitting  era  in  my  life. 

The  character  of  our  new  master  as  it  developed 
itself  was  not  that  of  a  preacher,  as  a  preacher's  ought 
to  be.  His  name  was  Dagobert  Q.  Thomas,  and  he 
had  strayed  off  from  one  of  the  Eastern  States  to  make 
his  fortune  either  by  a  rich  marriage,  or  a  profession, 
or  as  it  might  happen ;  it  mattered  little  how  so  the  end 
was  gained.  He  had  quite  an  expanse  of  rugged  fore 
head,  a  long  nose,  and  high  cheek-bones,  his  hair  was 
auburn  and  always  neatly  arranged  in  careless  ringlets, 
and  his  small  hazel  eyes  were  closely  set  and  keen ; 
but  he  was  by  no  means  ill  looking,  and  if  he  had  only 
been  a  man  of  sound  principles  he  would  no  doubt  have 
accomplished  his  design,  for  there  were  a  number  of 
rich  girls  in  the  county,  that  is,  rich  as  it  was  then  es 
teemed,  and  some  with  no  more  sense  than  the  law 
allowed,  and,  besides,  Yankees  were  not  then  so  uni 
versally  distrusted,  not  to  say  detested,  as  they  have 
been  of  late  years.  At  any  rate,  he  succeeded  Old  Dill, 
though  I  never  knew  by  what  arrangement,  and  took 
charge  of  the  school  just  as  it  stood ;  and  at  about  the 
same  time  we  understood  that  he  was  studying  medi 
cine. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  each  of  my  masters  was  a 
student  of  some  profession;  but  in  my  day,  unless  it 
was  a  stray  Scotchman,  or  an  Irishman  from  Trinity 
College,  Dublin — and  it  is  wonderful  how  many  peri 
patetic,  drunken  schoolmasters  that  college  has  sent 
abroad ! — such  a  man  as  a  professional  teacher  was 
6*  E 


66  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

rarely  ever  found  with  us.  [  School-teaching  is  a  labor 
to  most  men,  and  particularly  to  men  of  learning,  com 
pared  with  which  mauling  rails,  or  pulling  fodder  in 
August,  is  an  amusement,  and,  besides  that,  until 
within  late  years,  it  was  esteemed  with  us  much  as  it 
was  in  Greece  in  the  time  of  ^Eschiues.  I  cannot  my 
self  understand  how  any  one  would  voluntarily  em 
brace  it  as  a  profession  at  any  time,  but,  then,  no  one 
practiced  it  except  under  pressure  of  necessity;  and  those 
who  intended  entering  one  of  the  learned  professions 
were  the  only  class  with  whose  necessities  it  fitted.  It 
seems  to  me  that  to  become  a  professional  teacher  with 
any  hope  for  success  would  require  not  merely  the  ac 
quisition  of  learning,  but  that  one  should  discipline 
himself  by  mortification,  fasting,  and  prayer,  into  the 
patience  of  Job;  by  exercise  in  the  police,  into  the 
acuteness  of  a  first-class  Detective;  and  by  long  prac 
tice,  into  the  perfect  facility  of  reading  countenances 
acquired  by  a  successful  pettifogger. 

Mr.  Thomas  entered  into  his  affair  with  a  firm,  as 
sured  step,  throwing  patience  to  the  winds,  and  depend 
ing  upon  his  natural  astuteness  for  all  the  rest ;  arid 
though  his  eye  was  keen  and  restless,  and  his  voice 
harsh,  he  could  at  first  have  gathered  all  our  suffrages. 
His  first  actions  put  our  instincts  at  fault.  His  voice 
was  that  of  Esau,  but  his  hands  were  smooth  and  soft 
as  those  of  Jacob.  The  order  which  commenced  some 
times  to  blare  forth  like  a  trumpet,  became  a  flute-like 
request  before  it  was  ended ;  and  as  he  smiled,  and 
smiled,  and  never  whipped,  we  thought  he  was  only  a 
new  sort  of  saint.  But  soon  a  ferule  appeared,  and 
then  a  beech  switch,  and  then  a  whole  fagot  of 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  67 

switches,  and  we  commenced  to  have  a  warm  and 
earnest  time  of  it.  He  in  a  month  or  two  had  taken 
not  only  the  measure  of  every  scholar's  foot,  as  the  say 
ing  is,  but  of  the  feet  of  all  his  relations,  and  woe  to 
those  whose  feet  were  smallest  and  had  least  power  to 
kick  and  crush  !  Poor  little  Dick  Singletree — the  boys 
called  him  crying  Dick — was  almost  ajwdous,  for  there 
was  besides  himself  only  his  feeble  old  mother,  who 
made  a  living  by  spinning  yarn  and  knitting  socks,  and 
ho  seemed  to  excite  all  the  master's  bile.  He  was  stu 
pid,  in  truth,  and  terror  made  him  a  hundredfold  more 
so.  Imagine  his  fate  ! 

Another  boy,  Jim  Holmes,  a  cross-eyed,  wiry  urchin, 
with  stiff  short  hair,  sallow  face,  and  a  turned-up 
nose  with  flaring  nostrils,  whose  trowsers  were  always 
ragged  by  the  end  of  the  week,  and  held  up  by.  only 
one  suspender,  was  at  first  the  aversion  and  then  the 
match  of  Mr.  Thomas.  His  mother  was  dead,  and  his 
father  was  a  shingle-maker,  and  worker  at  any  sort  of 
odd  jobs,  who  spent  more  time  in  the  woods  with  his 
rifle  than  at  his  work.  Nothing  could  make  the  fellow 
have  his  lessons  perfect,  and  nothing  could  deter  him 
from  mischief,  which  he  always  seemed  to  prefer  t9 
work  alone.  No  whipping  could  bring  a  tear  from  his 
eyes,  and  his  only  manifestations  of  emotion  under  a 
scourging  were  briskly  lifting  one  foot  after  the  other 
and  rubbing  himself,  and  the  occasional  emission  of  a 
sharp  "ay!"  as  though  in  derision,  when  the  switch 
touched  some  unusually  tender  part.  He  intended 
nothing  comical,  but  his  whippings  were  a  source  of 
laughter  to  the  boys  out  of  school,  and  of  ill-concealed 
amusement  to  the  master  in  it.  Before  very  long  Mr. 


68  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

Thomas  discovered  that  he  was  a  kindred  spirit,  and 
laid  the  rod  aside,  except  on  very  extraordinary  occa 
sions  when  his  stomach  or  liver  was  out  of  order,  and 
the  amusement  of  whipping1  was  scarce.  His  second 
whipping  was  for  complaining  to  an  old  aunt  he  lived 
with  about  his  first — which  was  really  severe  and  un 
merited — and  it  gave  him  and  us  a  warning  we  never 
forgot.  The  master  placed  his  punishment  on  the  high 
ground  that  it  was  wrong  to  tell  tales  out  of  school ; 
and,  though  it  was  a  novel  application  of  the  doctrine, 
it  served  his  purposes.  After  awhile  Jim  found  it 
profitable  to  tell  tales  in  school,  and  became  a  despised 
mischief-maker  and  spy;  a  character  he  never  lost. 
When  he  grew  up,  it  was  his  delight  to  go  on  patrols, 
at  night,  pry  around  back-yards  and  quarters,  and  get 
negroes  or  poor  whites  into  trouble;  his  highest  ambi 
tion  was  to  be  the  town  policeman,  or  a  sheriff's  officer; 
not  a  fight  occurred  but  he  was  sure  to  be  in  it,  at  it, 
or  the  first  to  know  all  about  it,  even  if  he  himself  had 
not  brought  it  about.  It  was  a  passion  with  him  to 
know  more  than  any  one  else  about  every  piece  of  ras 
cality  committed  in  the  county,  and  to  be  very  mys 
terious  about  it  till  called  in  court  as  a  witness ;  and  he 
seemed  to  have  a  bitter  grudge  against  all  thieves, 
though  it  was  often  suspected  that  he  sometimes  con 
nived  at  and  profited  by  their  rogueries.  He  ended  his 
days  in  a  street  fight  he  had  himself  incited.  A  pistol 
ball  missed  one  of  the  parties  and  passed  through  his 
cliest,  killing  him  almost  instantly. 

Mr.  Thomas  had  a  sleeping-room  back  of  a  lawyer's 
office  in  a  row  of  small  one-storied  offices  near  the  court 
house  (for  Yatton  had  by  this  time  a  public  square  aud 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  69 

court-house),  and  boarded  at  the  tavern  kept  by  old 
Oberlin,  a  diminutive  German  whose  head  and  voice 
were  those  of  a  giant,  while  his  spirit  was  that  of  one 
of  the  hen-pecked.  It  was  a  strange  and  laughable 
contrast  to  hear  Mr.  Oberlin  roaring  submission  to  his 
shrew  of  a  wife,  or  in  tones  of  persuasive  thunder 
soothing  her  exasperation.  He  was  always  busy,  and 
seemed  to  do  most  of  the  cooking  of  his  establishment, 
while  his  wife  presided  over  the  dining-room  and  the 
rest  of  the  house.  It  was  interesting  to  see  him  leaning 
with  his  arms  folded  and  his  feet  crossed  at  the  street 
door  of  the  side  entry  which  led  to  his  kitchen.  His 
woolen  cap  bound  around  with  fur,  pulled  over  his 
brows,  his  shabby  black'blouse  and  heavy  soled  shoes 
showed  him  to  be  a  foreigner  without  the  necessity  of 
looking  at  his  flat,  sallow  face,  and  unmistakably  Gor 
man  eyes  and  mouth.  As  he  stood  there  in  placid 
repose,  the  smoke  gently  curling  from  the  short  pipe  ho 
held  in  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  one  would  have  thought 
him  the  most  contented  of  men,  until  at  the  sound  of 
his  wife's  shrill  voice  in  the  house  over  head  he  would 
cast  his  eye  upward  like  a  duck  in  a  thunder-storm,  and 
if  the  noise  increased,  would  with  a  grunt  hurriedly 
shake  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  thrust  it  in  his  pocket, 
and  start  back  to  the  regions  of  his  special  labors 
within,  for  fear  a  shower  of  wrath  should  descend  upon 
his  head  if  caught  outside. 

The  study  of  medicine  did  not  seem  to  deprive  Mr. 
Thomas  of  much  rest,  and  though  he  often  brought  a 
large  book  to  school,  we  did  not  observe  that  he  often 
did  more  than  open  it,  apparently  as  a  blind  under 
cover  of  which  to  entice  the  wandering  glances  or  sly 


70  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

whispers  of  some  urchin  not  actuated  in  his  diligence 
by  real  love  of  study.  Punishment  was  sure  to  follow 
his  essays  at  reading  medicine  in  school.  He  was, 
nominally  at  least,  the  student  of  old  Dr.  Hutchins,  and 
consorted  sometimes  with  one  or  two  of  the  other  doc 
tors,  but  he  was  prudently  reserved  upon  professional 
matters  while  with  them,  though  sometimes  very  dif 
fuse  and  learned  before  a  non-professional  crowd.  I 
have  heard  him  in  such  a  crowd  out-talk  a  slow  doctor 
and  even  puzzle  him  in  the  use  of  hard  medical  terms. 
With  my  father  he  was  always  especially  polite  and 
reserved,  and  never  ventured  out  of  his  depth.  He  was 
afraid  of  him,  and  I  never  saw  the  scamp  who  cared 
to  frequent  his  company  sufficiently  to  be  examined 
thoroughly  by  his  penetrating  blue  eye,  and  stern  sense 
of  right.  The  only  way  to  deceive  my  father  was 
through  his  affections. 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  care  the  master  took 
of  his  hair,  and  he  took  no  less  of  his  clothing,  the 
texture  and  fit  of  which  were  always  unexceptionable. 
His  feet  were  long  and  flat,  and  had  a  knot  near  the 
great  toe  of  each  at  the  head  of  the  metatarsal  bone ; 
but  the  make  arid  polish  of  his  boots  were  as  fine  as 
sutorial  art  could  achieve  in  those  days  and  at  that 
place.  There  was  one  drawback,  however,  to  the  agree- 
ability  of  his  person;  he  was  eternally  washing  his 
hands,  which  were  long,  cold,  and  clammy,  and  rinsing 
his  mouth,  and,  in  fine,  performing  the  same  ablutions 
as  would  a  man  who  felt  he  was  very  filthy.  There 
was  also  a  very  singular  fact  about  his  associations 
which  no  one  could  understand.  He  frequently  visited 
the  local  preacher,  Mr.  Steele,  who  thought  him,  and 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  71 

proclaimed  him,  a  promising  and  lovely  young  man 
whom  he  hoped  yet  to  see  laboring  in  the  vineyard; 
for  he  professed  to  be  "serious  about  his  soul's  salva 
tion,"  and  was  punctual  and  devout  in  his  attendance 
at  church,  prayer  meetings,  and  even  at  class  meeting. 
He  often  spoke  to  Mr.  Steele  and  others,  particularly 
devout  old  ladies,  of  the  piety  of  his  parents,  of  the 
means  of  grace  he  had  enjoyed,  and  how  he  had  once 
thought  his  mountain  strong,  but  had  strayed  away 
like  a  lost  sheep  into  the  gins  and  snares  of  this  present 
wicked  world;  until  the  more  he  proclaimed  himself  a 
sinner  the  more  they  believed  him  a  saint  incognito. 
Yet,  Jim  Cotton,  and  Sam  Hardaway,  and  one  or  two 
others,  men  of  leisure  and  pleasure,  gorgeously  dressed 
and  glittering  with  rings  and  chains,  were  known  to 
frequently  visit  his  room  at  night, — with  others  who 
were  strangers,  passing  through  the  town  bound  to 
the  territories, — for  Mississippi  and  Alabama  had  not 
then  been  admitted  as  States,  and  Texas  was  a  savage 
land.  He  was  often,  too,  in  confab  with  one  or  more 
of  them  as  though  by  chance  at  a  corner  or  about  the 
public  square.  They  were  noted  gamblers,  but  it  was 
thought  that  perhaps  he  was  trying  to  put  in  the  good 
word  to  turn  them  from  their  ways.  He  said  he  was, 
and  through  Mr.  Steele,  who  somehow  in  the  connec 
tion  rung  in  the  text  about  "the  mouths  of  babes  and 
sucklings,"  it  got  to  be  believed. 

A  few  months  after  his  advent  he  commenced  to  pay 
sedulous  court  to  Miss  Lucy  Perkins,  a  fine  showy  girl, 
whose  father  had  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the 
richest  planters  then  in  our  section,  and  who  would,  as 
an  only  child,  be  rich  at  his  death.  Of  course,  the 


72  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

elegant,  accomplished,  and  serious  Mr.  Thomas  had  the 
entry  of  all  the  best  society  of  the  county  in  its  public 
sociabilities,  and,  to  please  her,  he  was  even  admitted 
into  many  of  the  private  parties  where  she  was  invited. 
In  fact,  it  got  to  be  understood  that  it  would  be  a 
match;  and  as  he  would  then  be  adopted  into  the 
family  of  the  tribe,  he  was  treated  with  anticipatory 
cordiality,  at  all  hands.  Whether  they  were  ever  actu 
ally  engaged  or  not,  I  do  not  know;  though  I  do  believe 
she  would  have  married  him ;  and  if  she  had,  her  fate 
could  have  hardly  been  worse  than  it  was  with  the 
husband  she  took  at  last.  The  only  two  differences  I 
can  see  are,  that  she  would  have  had  a  Yankee  instead 
of  a  home-bred  brute,  and  therefore  might  have  been 
robbed,  and  (because  he  would  have  been  Mr.  Thomas) 
might  have  been  murdered,  as  well.  But,  whatever 
she  might  have  done,  it  was  fated  Mr.  Thomas  should 
not  achieve  wealth  in  Yatton,  and  the  catastrophe  hap 
pened  in  this  wise. 

The  worldly  had  for  some  time  been  conjecturing 
that  he  was  not  the  ingenuous  disciple  the  leading 
brethren  thought  him  to  be,  and  they  hinted  malig 
nantly  at  his  having  been  heard  to  use  language  of  un 
godly  objurgation  (hints  are  generally  vague ;  they  did 
not  say  he  cursed  outright)  on  several  occasions  when 
greatly  irritated,  and  something  I  did  not  understand, 
was  said  about  Miss  Lucy's  yellow  servant-girl,  and 
various  innuendoes  were  bandied  about;  but  all  was 
looked  upon  by  Father  Steele  and  his  stanch  sup 
porters  as  mere  envious  slander,  though  some  of  the 
less  enthusiastic  among  them  began  to  doubt.  But 
the  autumn  came  on,  and  with  it  camp  meeting,  at  the 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  73 

camp  ground  near  Yatton.  Mr.  Thomas  attended  it 
regularly,  always  near  about  Miss  Lucy ;  arid  he  visited 
the  altar  and  took  his  seat  upon  the  mourner's  bench 
with  her  and  others  two  or  three  times,  and  seemed  to 
take  so  great  an  interest  in  her  salvation — and,  poor  girl, 
she  was  deeply  affected  ! — and  in  securing  his  own,  that 
one  day  Father  Steele  asked  him  to  lead  in  prayer.  I 
venture  to  say  that  a  more  beautiful  and  affecting 
prayer  never  was  heard  on  that  camp  ground.  Miss 
Lucy  was  kneeling  near  him,  and  her  presence,  and  the 
"Amens!"  and  shouts  of  "glory,"  and  groans  of  con 
trition,  which  greeted  each  sentence,  seemed  to  inflame 
his  memory,  imagination,  and  devotion  until  one  would 
have  thought  St.  Chrysostom  himself  was  speaking. 
He  was  so  perfectly  abstracted,  however,  by  the  strain 
of  the  purely  intellectual  effort  he  had  made  that  he 
forgot  himself,  and  where  he  was,  and  after  he  had 
pronounced  his  amen,  he  sat  back  on  the  ground  and 
exclaimed  to  himself,  but  audibly,  in  a  triumphant  tone: 
"Pretty  tolerably  d — d  well,  for  the  first  time!" 

What  I  have  here  narrated  is  the  actual  fact;  for 
though  I  did  not  hear  it  myself,  being  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  crowd  and  crying  with  excitement,  many  others 
did — and  among  them  Mr.  Steele  himself,  who  cast 
upon  him  a  look  of  surprise  and  sorrow,  and,  as  did  all 
the  others,  silently  shunned  him.  Pie  saw  his  error  as 
soon  as  it  was  committed,  and  seemed  to  catch  at  it  as 
though  he  might  recall  it;  but  his  game  was  up  on  the 
religious  deal,  and  he  knew  it.  There  was  nothing  left 
for  him  but  to  brazen  it  out,  or  to  leave  the  county ; 
and  as  he  thought  he  had  still  a  chance  for  Miss  Lucy 


74  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

and  a  permanent  and  very  large  stake  in  the  country, 
he  concluded  to  take  the  first  alternative ;  and  like  a 
wise  man,  he  neither  put  on  defiant  airs  nor  apologized 
for  his  lapse.  He,  on  the  contrary,  never  referred  to 
it,  and  seemed  humble  and  contrite,  in  hopes  that  it 
would  pass  over  as  a  remnant  of  the  old  leaven;  and 
so  it  no  doubt  would  have  done  in  time,  but  his  mis 
fortunes  were  culminating  for  his  total  overthrow. 

There  were  at  the  school,  as  I  have  intimated,  sev 
eral  boys  of  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age,  stout, 
manly  fellows,  but  singly  no  match  for  the  master  in 
strength.  From  the  first  they  had  preserved  a  sort  of 
armed  neutrality,  being  deterred  by  respect  for  the 
public  opinion  in  his  favor  from  combining  against  his 
cruelties,  notably  those  to  Dick  Singletree;  but  they 
had  turned  pale  and  gritted  their  teeth  many  a  time, 
and  vowed  in  their  hearts  what  they  would  do  if  he 
were  ever  to  attempt  to  serve  them  so.  The  shield  of 
public  favor  was  gone ;  Mr.  Steele  had  ceased  to  men 
tion  the  outcast's  name,  and  only  sighed  when  he 
heard  it;  the  class-leaders  were  equally  as  silent  and 
evasive  for  fear  of  bringing  greater  scandal  on  the 
church ;  the  worldly  were  loud  in  their  jeers  and  scoffs, 
rolled  the  scandal  like  a  sweet  morsel  under  their 
tongues,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  roar  with  laughter  at 
him,  whom  they  called  a  hypocrite,  as  though  he  had 
perpetrated  a  merry  jest;  and  his  humility  they  treated 
as  a  fine  stroke  of  policy.  With  a  consciousness  of 
right,  and  a  chivalrous  feeling  of  benevolence,  and, 
probably,  the  secret  encouragements  of  sundry  grown 
advisers  to  back  them,  the  union  of  strength  was 
formed,  the  command  of  high  Justice  was  announced, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  75 

and  Sam  Halliday,  Phil  Hartwell,  and  Joe  Hopkins 
were  appointed  her  executioners. 

The  occasion  soon  presented  itself.  Little  Dick  was 
called  up  for  punishment,  and  advanced  pale  and  trem 
bling,  casting  pleading  glances  back  at  his  champions. 
The  master,  first  suppling  in  his  hand  a  keen,  elastic 
switch,  was  about  to  bring  it  with  hissing  force  upon 
the  boy's  back,  cowering  to  receive  the  blow,  when  his 
arm  was  arrested  midway  and  his  form  rendered  mo 
tionless  by  the  voice  of  Sam,  who,  standing  up  in  his 
place,  said:  "Stop,  Mr.  Thomas;  you  must  not  whip 
that  boy  any  more."  "What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  ex 
claimed  the  master,  in  his  harshest  voice.  "We  mean," 
said  Sam,  and  here  Phil  and  Joe  rose  and  stood  by 
him,  and  most  of  the  other  scholars  rose  also  to  their 
feet  in  excitement  while  others  shrank  with  terror  in 
their  seats, — "we  mean  that  you  have  whipped  him 
too  much  already,  and  that  you  shan't  do  so  any 
more!"  "You  d — d  scoundrel,"  shouted  the  master, 
"I'll  whip  you,  too;"  and  he  advanced  switch  in 
hand  to  where  Sam  was  standing,  and  as  his  blow 
descended,  Sam  struck  him  with  a  glass  inkstand  on 
the  mouth,  and  Phil  and  Joe  clinched  with  him,  and 
all  four  were  almost  immediately  upon  the  floor,  strik 
ing  and  scuffling  among  the  desks  and  benches.  Jim 
Holmes  ran  forward  to  interfere  for  his  friend,  who,  he 
thought,  must  needs  conquer,  and  would  so  reward; 
but  a  blow  from  Sam,  whom  he  "first  caught  hold  of, 
sent  him  howling  to  the  end  of  the  room.  The  scuffle 
lasted  but  three  or  four  minutes,  when  Mr.  Thomas's 
(no  longer  the  master's)  voice  was  heard  exclaiming, 
"Enough!"  It  was  in  those  days  the  point  of  honor 


76  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

never  to  strike  after  that  magic  word  was  said ;  but 
they  tied  him,  hands  and  feet,  and  then  dictated  their 
terms — which  were  neither  more  nor  less  than  that  he 
should  abdicate  his  authority  by  giving  up  the  school; 
terms,  no  doubt,  from  their  thoroughness,  the  prompt 
ing  of  wiser  heads  than  those  of  the  victors ;  for  it 
may  be  noted  that  boys  in  dealings  with  older  persons 
are  apt  of  themselves  to  compromise  and  palter,  rather 
than  go  to  the  extremcst  length  of  right  and  propriety. 
The  single  article  was  agreed  to,  and  signed  in  black  and 
white  by  the  teacher,  after  he  was  released  from  his 
bonds,  and  he  walked  out  of  the  door  braised  and  crest 
fallen. 

No  shout  of  triumph  broke  the  awfulness  of  the 
occasion.  The  little  boys  hurriedly,  and  the  larger 
more  deliberately  gathered  their  slates,  and  books,  and 
playthings  together,  amid  the  shuffling  of  feet  and  the 
slamming  of  desk-lids — and  all  went  off  in  squads  to 
their  homes,  talking  over  the  event  in  subdued  tones. 
Mr  Thomas,  with  his  handkerchief  to  his  braised  and 
bloody  fac-c  when  about  to  meet  any  one,  went  across 
the  fields  to  his  room,  and  was  seen  no  more  that  day 
in  public;  and  the  next  morning  he  was  gone  from  the 
town. 

Then  commenced  the  uproar.  The  boys  were  fully 
justified  in  their  conduct  by  their  parents;  the  public 
praised  them,  and  little  Dick  worshiped  them.  All 
the  story  of  Mr.  Thomas's  doings  and  propensities 
came  out,  greatly  embellished  and  added  to,  I  fear.  He 
was  a  gambler.  Ho  had  left  between  two  days  with  all 
his  valuables;  and -old  Oberlin's  board  bill  was  unset 
tled,  and  the  shoemaker  was  unpaid,  and  a  bill  against 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  77 

him  for  perfumery,  and  cardamom  seeds,  and  fancy 
soap,  and  divers  packs  of  cards,  and  bottles  of  brandy, 
and  a  hymn-book,  and  Adams's  Ruddiman's  Rudiments 
of  the  Latin  Grammar,  and  sundry  hair  and  tooth 
brushes,  and  numerous  prescriptions  of  medicine,  were 
charged  on  the  books  of  the  drug-store — for  Yatton 
had  then  a  drug-store,  and  in  it  was  just  such  a  gen 
eral  assortment  as  this  bill  indicates.  And  old  Ober- 
lin  swore  "by  damn,"  and  his  wife  sneered,  and  up 
braided  him  so  sorely  that  a  year  or  so  afterward  he 
refused  entertainment  to  a  man  because  his  name  was 
Thomas ;  and  would  have  had  a  fight,  not  a  lawsuit, 
about  it  but  for  the  interference  of  his  wife,  who  calmed 
the  stranger;  but  to  her  astonishment  could  not  sub 
due  the  will  of  her  lord  and  master.  Old  Wright,  the 
druggist,  who  had  learned  his  profession  in  Philadel 
phia,  comforted  himself  by  saying  that,  as  the  fellow 
was  a  medical  student,  anything  was  to  be  expected 
of  him  ;  and  the  shoemaker  forgot  his  loss  in  a  roaring 
drunk  which  lasted  three  days,  when  he  returned  to  his 
lap-stone  with  other  feelings  in  his  head  than  condem 
nation  of  his  absconding  debtor. 

But  the  person  most  seriously  injured  was  Miss 
Lucy.  She  was  most  to  be  pitied  and  least  to  blame ; 
for  the  others  had  no  business  giving  credit,  while  it 
was  exactly  the  business  of  her  woman's  nature  to 
give  credit,  and  gain  love  and  a  husband — and  was  not 
this  young  man  handsome,  accomplished,  and  pious,  as 
all  thought  ?  What  more  attractive  could  any  one  de 
sire  than  a  handsome  person,  fine  talents,  and  fair 
learning?  and  what  better  security  than  piety  ?  Alas, 
how  many  hundreds  of  thousands  of  Southern  girls 

7* 


78  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

have  found  the  attractions,  and  overvalued  the  coun 
terfeit  security  I  It  would  seem  that  women  will 
never  cease  taking  morals  and  disposition  upon  trust. 
They  have  to  do  so,  as  do  men,  more  or  less  under  the 
most  favorable  opportunities,  but  it  certainly  is  the 
most  reckless  of  follies  to  trust  a  wandering  stranger, 
of  whose  family  and  previous  life  they  can  have  no 
knowledge ;  and  even  if  he  come  highly  recommended, 
of  whose  disposition  they  can  have  no  experience. 

If  Miss  Lucy  had  used  half  the  discretion  with  re 
gard  to  Thomas's  morals,  disposition,  family,  and  even 
his  present  life,  that  lie  did  with  regard  to  her  fortune, 
she  would  not  have  had  to  hang  her  head,  and  refuse 
for  months  to  go  abroad  among  her  friends;  she  would 
not  have  had  to  reproach  herself  for  being  placed  in 
the  ridiculous  position  of  one  whose  lover  had  been 
chased  from  her  by  the  furies  of  offended  justice  and 
public  scorn,  and  had  also  been  the  too  successful  lover 
of  her  maid. 

Ah,  it  was  a  pitiable  case ;  far  worse  than  if  he  had 
discarded  her.  Then  she  might  have  mourned  like  a 
stricken  dove;  but  now,  like  a  maiden  hawk  whose 
heart  has  throbbed  tumultuously  as  she  has  timidly 
answered  the  voice  of  some  coming  mate  in  the  dense 
foliage  of  a  neighboring  tree,  and  who,  at  length,  while 
in  her  tenderest  pitch,  discovers  it  is  a  miserable  blue- 
jay  who  has  imitated  the  gallant  tones,  and  at  the  ap 
proach  of  danger  flies  screaming  with  affright  deeper 
into  the  grove,  she  had  to  sit  pondering  the  rude  disap 
pointment  with  drooping  plumes,  and  try  to  persuade 
herself  she  never  was  deceived  into  a  response. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  79 


CHAPTER    VII. 

WAS  fourteen  years  old  when  the  school  broke  up 
so  suddenly  and  dramatically,  and  the  holiday  which 
resulted  was  very  delightful  after  my  long  task  at 
books.  Living  out  of  town  as  we  did,  I  was  not 
tempted  to  the  excitements  and  mischiefs  of  gregarious 
and  knowing  town  boys,  and  my  parents  were  spared 
the  continual  watching  and  chiding  they  would  have 
had  to  bestow  upon  me.  Nor  did  I  miss  the  noisy 
crowd  so  much  as  would  have  been  expected ;  for  be 
sides  that  I  was  rather  a  shy,  thoughtful  boy,  my  two 
younger  sisters,  and  two  brothers,  the  younger  only 
four  years  old,  gave  me  plenty  of  amusement.  Indeed, 
home  was  always  a  place  of  delight  to  me,  as  it  was 
to  them.  We  loved  our  indulgent  parents  and  each 
other  tenderly,  and  found  amusement  iu  very  simple 
and  incongruous  things.  I  say  incongruous,  because 
as  they  grew  a  little  older,  the  switchings  Joe  received 
were  a  source  of  the  keenest  enjoyment  to  Eldred,  un 
less  he  was  himself  involved ;  and  Eldred's  contortions 
under  punishment  excited  as  great  contortions  of  mirth 
in  Joe ;  from  which  facts  it  may  be  surmised  that  our 
dear  little  mother's  discipline  had  lost  a  good  deal  of  its 
vigor  and  wiry  edge.  But  besides  these  playmates,  I 
had  Peter  Hall,  a  son  of  Judge  Hall,  and  Isaac  Davis, 
the  son  of  the  then  sheriff;  both  about  my  own  age, 
both  intelligent,  noble-hearted,  and  gentlemanly  boys, 
who  used  to  visit  me  often,  sometimes  for  days  at  a 


80  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

time,  and  whoso  visits  I  was  allowed  to  return.  Their 
mothers  had  beon  school-friends  of  my  mother,  and 
each  had  well-founded  confidence  in  the  other's  children. 

I  remember  how  with  these  boys  and  my  little 
brothers  it  was  my  delight  of  summer  days  to  paddle 
about  with  bare  feet  in  the  spring  branch,  underneath 
the  beech-trees,  and  build  dams  across  it.  As  the  cur 
rent  swelled  in  volume,  our  dam  would  break  on  one 
side,  and  as  we  patched  it  up,  the  other  would  break 
by  small  degrees,  not  noticed,  until  all  the  white  sand 
and  brilliant  pebbles  would  rush  away  with  grating 
sound,  and  our  work  would  have  to  be  begun  anew. 
So  it  was,  and  yet  I  never  tired  of  meeting  the  same 
fate.  Even  then,  as  I  constructed  my  dam,  I  built  air- 
castles  too.  Truly,  a  more  hopeful,  imaginative  boy 
than  I  never  existed.  The  greatest  impossibilities  were 
to  me  as  realities.  I  accompanied  Jack — him  of  the 
bean-stalk — in  his  long  climb,  put  on  the  seven-leagued 
boots  and  beat  the  giant;  I  shared  with  the  other  Jack 
all  his  excitement  in  giant-slaying,  and  slew  many  a 
giant  of  my  own.  The  Wonderful  Lamp  was  among 
my  treasures ;  I  knew  every  nook  and  corner  of  Doubt 
ing  Castle;  Ali  Baba's  servant  was  assisted  by  me  in 
the  disposal  of  the  forty  thieves ;  and  the  very  purse  of 
Fortunatus  was  in  my  pocket:  Cinderella  was  no 
myth  to  me,  but  was  one  of  my  loves,  and  I  had 
the  exact  match  of  'the  Marquis  of  Carabbas's  cat.  I 
searched  for  diamonds  among  the  pebbles  of  the  brook, 
and  hoped  to  find  lumps  of  gold  among  the  iron  py 
rites  in  the  deep  wash  near  the  house. 

They  were  glorious  days,  those  of  my  childhood. 


AURAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  81 

With  a  halo  of  hopeful  unreality  about  me,  I  wandered 
through  the  woods  with  my  little  single-barreled  gun 
and  dogs.  There  were  Mingo  and  Beppo,  poor  old 
Juno,  and  half  a  dozen  others — terriers,  hounds,  and 
curs.  I  knew  the  voice  of  each,  and  what  it  meant. 
The  timid  rabbit  pricked  up  its  ears,  leaped  stealthily 
from  its  covert,  and  ran  for  dear  life,  when  halloo  and 
bark  announced  our  approach.  The  partridge,  hide  she 
it  never  so  wisely,  could  not  conceal  her  nest  from  me. 
The  squirrel  dropped  his  hickory-nut  and  chattered  at 
us  as  we  passed,  or  from  'the  loftiest  limb  scolded  me 
for  some  noisy  attempt  on  his  life.  I  was  up  to  all  the 
dodges  of  the  woodpecker,  and  the  red-bird  was  not 
smart  enough  to  bite  my  finger  as  I  took  him  from  my 
trap.  Happy  days  they  were,  and  all  the  happier  for 
the  day-dream-land  in  which  I  lived.  The  rabbit  was 
a  foreign  foe  successfully  chased  away;  the  squirrel, 
some  escaped  malefactor  against  whom  I  vowed  future 
vengeance ;  the  woodpecker,  a  clown ;  the  red-bird,  a 
thief. 

Because  to  call  one  a  day-dreamer  is  intended  as  a 
reproach,  and  because  I  may  have  lost  some  time  at 
that  pjeasant  amusement,  I  will  not  therefore  condemn 
what,  when  you  analyze  it,  is  the  source  of  more  ma 
terial  benefit  and  general  content  than  all  the  surplus 
wealth  of  the  world.  I  grant  that  its  excess  is  folly, 
for  the  excess  of  any  virtue  is  folly  or  vice,  but  within 
due  bounds  it  is  like  a  rosy  light  cast  upon  heavy 
clouds — the  landscape  is  all  the  brighter  for  the  reflec 
tion.  I  remember  some  lines  I  wrote  when  I  was  first 
grown  up,  which,  though  they  may  not  be  poetry,  are 
applicable  to  the  subject. 


82  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

"Remember,  too,  that  if  in  life's  short  day 
A  gloomy  cloud  obscure  your  various  way, 
Hope  tells  you  (hat  the  rainbow  lies  concealed 

.  In  the  dark  thunder-cloud,  and  is  congealed 
In  the  smooth  ice  ;  from  Heaven  the  light  must  shine 
To  make  it  seen ;  that  in  the  darkest  mine 
The  very  stones  have  fires  within  them  Lid ; 
And  you  must  be  the  steel  at  whose  rough  bid 
They  shall  burst  forth  and  light  around  them  shed." 

This  hope,  married  to  a  vigorous  imagination,  pro 
duces  day-dreams,  as  they  -arc  called.  And  the  more 
healthy  the  hope  and  the  imagination,  the  more  lusty 
and  brilliant  the  visions.  But  it  produces  also  active 
and  well-directed  labor. 

Imagination  is  not  what  most  persons  seem  to  con 
sider  it,  or  I  do  not  understand  it.  Because  Shak- 
speare  and  Milton  had  fine  imaginations,  it  is  not  to  be 
supposed  that  Newton  and  Watt  possessed  little  or 
none,  but  were  wholly  absorbed  in  hard  facts.  Both 
were  almost,  or  quite,  as  imaginative  as  either  of 
the  poets ;  their  imaginations  differed  only  in  bent. 
Through  what  boundless  space  must  not  the  imagi 
nation  of  Newton,  taking  charge  of  and  up-bearing  his 
reason,  have  traveled,  toying  with  the  stars,  arranging 
and  tossing  the  planets  to  and  fro,  enduing  them  with 
various  imaginary  forces,  and  hurling  them  in  this  or 
that  infinite  direction,  until  by  comparing  results  he 
arrived  at  the  grout  laws  which  govern  their  motions ! 
A  steam-engine  is  a  hard  fact,  yet  mathematics  could 
not  have  invented  it,  however  they  may  contribute  to 
the  perfection  of  its  machinery.  The  bold  and  original 
imagination  of  Watt  suggested  that  the  thing  could  be 


ABE  All  AM  PAGE,  ESQ.  83 

arranged,  and  then,  spurred  on  by  hope,  arranged  it; 
and  who  can  tell  the  brilliant  dreams  of  future  wealth 
and  fame  which  kept  pace  with  his  reason,  and  cheered 
it  on  in  its  sometimes  languid  and  discouraged  flight  in 
the  clouds  ! 

I  can  readily  imagine  some  young  man  of  talent  and 
lively  fancy  imagining  to  write  a  book  and  give  it  to 
the  world,  and  before  he  has  written  a  line  picturing  to 
himself  a  glorious  success.  It  shall  be  about  the  loves 
and  sorrows  of  Araminta  and  Theodore,  and  after  fif 
teen,  nay,  forty  editions  are  exhausted,  he,  all  un 
known,  shall  leave  his  quiet  home  to  travel.  On 
steamboats  and  in  rail-cars,  in  hotels  and  on  doorsteps, 
he  sees  his  book  in  hand  and  being  eagerly  read.  He 
is  jostled  on  the  street  by  men  reading  his  book; 
steamboat-clerks  and  draymen  have  left  their  work, 
and  are  seated  upon  boxes  and  bales  on  the  wharves, 
reading  his  book;  and  all  business  is  at  a  stand-still 
until  his  book  be  read.  Tears  trickle  from  young 
ladies'  eyes  as  they  breathe  the  name  of  Theodore, 
and  "Ah,  Araminta  !"  is  sighed  by  young  men  and  old 
behind  counters,  and  at  their  calculations.  Bridget 
and  Dolly  carry  his  book  in  their  pockets,  and  pause  in 
making  up  his  bed,  or,  while  sweeping,  seat  themselves 
upon  the  stairs,  to  finish  a  chapter.  The  players 
snatch  all  the  moments  between  their  appearances  to 
read  a  little  in  his  book  behind  the  scenes ;  the  call-boy 
is  too  busy  with  it  to  heed  the  time ;  and  the  prompter 
pores  over  it,  instead  of  setting  right  the  actors,  who 
only  sigh  and  talk,  as  though  in  dreams,  of  its  scenes 
to  an  audience  too  busy  reading  his  book  to  mind  their 
vagaries. 


84  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

I  say  that  I  can  imagine  a  young  man  permitting 
all  these  fantastic  dreams  to  revel  in  his  mind,  arid 
being  spurred  on  to  exertion,  and  as  ho  will  do  his  best 
at  his  work,  I  think  he  is  greatly  benefited.  JSTor,  if  he 
should  never  write  a  line  of  his  book,  but  should  ham 
mer  merrily  at  his  trade,  do  I  see  that  he  has  received 
any  harm.  If  he  should  permit  himself  to  indulge  the 
dreams  to  occupy  his  time  to  the  exclusion  of  his  work, 
or  should  shape  his  work  by  them,  he  is,  in  the  true 
sense,  no  day-dreamer;  he  is  crazy,  an  absolute  lunatic, 
who,  at  best,  has  only  lucid  moments — however  his 
friends  may  think  of  his  superior  intellect,  and  call  him 
only  visionary.  It  is  best  to  call  things  by  their  right 
names. 

When  I  was  a  boy  I  could  picture  myself  a  prince, 
with  power  of  life  and  death,  wealth  without  parallel, 
and  luxury  without  stint ;  but  I  never  discovered  that 
I  obeyed  my  parents  any  the  worse  for  it,  found  a  two- 
bit  piece  any  the  'smaller,  or  enjoyed  my  corn-bread 
and  bacon,  my  simple  pallet,  or  my  rides  in  an  ox-cart, 
any  the  less.  Since  I  have  been  a  man  I  have  in 
dulged  myself  in  rhapsodies  to  which  that  I  have  im- 
.agined  of  the  young  would-be  author  is  very  grave, 
but,  though  I  have  perhaps  wasted  some  time  in  them, 
I  am  not  aware  that  the  indulgence  has  ever  warped 
or  weakened  my  judgment. 

.  There  is  no  invention  and  there  is  little  happiness 
without  the  exertions  of  fancy.  They  add  savor  to  the 
dry  crust,  and  down  to  the  straw  bed,  and  succes.s  to 
the  hard  toil  of  the  laboring  man  ;  or,  at  least,  they 
make  those  evils  more  bearable.  It  is  peculiarly  fit  that 
children  should  have  the  happy  faculty  and  a  facility  of 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.      •  85 

day- dreaming1.  The  occurring  troubles  and  miseries  of 
their  inexperienced  lives  would  be  destroying  without 
it,  and  it  has  lifted  many  a  one  from  the  dirt  to  sit  iu 
high  places. 

Call  it  day-dreaming,  imagination,  fancy,  the  crea 
tive  faculty,  or  what  you  will,  it  is  the  same  faculty  in 
poets,  and  philosophers,  and  children ;  and  is  almost,  if 
not  quite,  the  only  faculty  which  man  possesses  not  also 
given  to  brutes.  It  is  a  principal  moving  power  of  man's 
nature,  and,  like  the  inclination  to  make  a  noise  which 
caws  with  the  crow,  brays  with  the  ass,  or  warbles  with 
the  nightingale,  it  manifests  itself  differently  with  dif 
ferent  persons. 

The  secret  of  my  failure  in  life — I  mean  my  failure 
to  make  fame  and  fortune — is  not  that  I. have  been  a 
visionary,  but,  perhaps,  that  I  have  been  impatient.  A 
day  or  two  after  a  child  has  planted  a  cutting,  he  pulls 
it  up  to  see  if  it  has  taken  root ;  so  have  I  planned  the 
growth  of  many  a  fair  scheme  which  I  hoped  should 
bear  me  pleasant  fruits,  and  have  by  my  impatience 
killed  it,  or  made  it  linger  long,  to  die  at  last  unfruitful ; 
and  all  the  associations  and  tenor  of  my  life  tended  to 
encourage  that  natural  impatience  the  germs  of  which 
I  certainly  possessed  in  considerable  vitality.  In  my 
early  days  I  saw  no  one  meet  with  any  great  success 
unless  by  accident,  or  in  saving  money,  and  as  I  often 
heard  the  proverb,  "a  fool  for  luck,"  and  knew  that 
( meanness  was  the  most  certain  aid  to  Avealth,  I  was 
discouraged.  During  my  whole  life  I  have  seen  but 
few  men  who  achieved  a  lasting  fame,  or  one  worth 
having,  in  any  walk  of  life.  However  ardent  he  might 
be,  and  whatever  his  apparent  chances,  death  stepped 


8(5  LIFE  AND    OPINIONS  OF 

in,  or  accident,  or  his  object  lost  its  value  in  his  esteem, 
and  he  never  enjoyed  the  prize.  At  school  I  studied 
Latin  and  Greek  to  the  pitch  of  irritated  despair;  was 
put  through  a  course  of  algebra  in  about  two  weeks,  for 
the  purpose  of  hurrying  me  to  a  higher  class  for  which 
I  was  otherwise  prepared ;  took  a-  few  lessons  in  draw 
ing  ;  and  got  a  stray  Frenchman  to  teach  me  the  passes 
and  guards  with  the  foils,  which  I  used  to  practice  with 
my  companions  to  the  danger  of  our  eyes,  the  scarring 
of  our  hands  and  arms,  and  by  continued  practice,  to 
the  complete  confusion  of  all  science  in  the  art  so 
slightly  learned.  All  this  tended  me  to  be  impatient; 
as  to  have  seen  and  felt  impatience  would  have  made 
me  patient  and  thorough. 

Had  another  plausible  child-tinker  established  him 
self  in  business  after  Mr.  Thomas's  devastavit,  I  should 
no  doubt  have  been  continued  as  at  once  a  specimen 
and  a  subject.  But  for  several  months  no  eligible 
teacher  presented  himself,  and  in  the  mean  time  my 
father  himself  had  taken  to  teaching  me  French  and 
Spanish,  and  brushing  me  up  occasionally  in  Latin  and 
Greek,  and  my  views  in  life,  too,  had  altered,  so  that 
when  a  good  school  was  started,  I  was  not  sent  as  one 
of  the  scholars. 

Few  men,  in  our  part  of  the  world  at  least,  more  thor 
oughly  understood  both  Latin  and  Greek  than  my  father ; 
he  was,  therefore,  most  competent  to  teach,  and,  had  not 
my  disgust  to  those  languages  prevented,  his  kind  ex 
planations  and  assistance  would  have  made  me  learn 
them.  But  his  knowledge  of  French  was  very  limited, 
and  I  doubt  if  he  had  ever  read  a  page  of  Spanish  in 
his  life;  and  yet  he  gave  me  a  more  thorough  course  in 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  87 

both  than  most  teachers  of  modern  languages  in  Ameri 
can  schools  have  either  the  patience  or  the  capacity  to 
give.  The  Spanish  book  he  made  me  read,  after  I  had 
somewhat  progressed  in  the  grammar,  was  upon  the 
evidences  of  Christianity  (I  have  forgotten  its  title),  and 
with  his  knowledge  .of  Latin,  and  of  what  the  sense 
ought  to  be,  it  was  impossible  to  impose  upon  him  a 
false  translation. 

I  suppose  that  it  is  the  quality  of  old  age,  whether 
happy  or  miserable,  to  make  our  memories  of  youth 
more  sweet.  I,  at  least,  difler  with  Francesca,  in  hell, 

who  exclaims: 

"  Nessuu  maggior  dolore, 
Che  ricordarsi  del  tempo  felice 
Nella  miseria." 

Perhaps  if  I  were  in  hell  it  would  be  so  too  with  me. 
But  as  it  is,  in  my  feebleness  I  remember  with  exult 
ation  the  strength  and  activity  t)f  my  youth ;  in  my 
pain  I  laugh  to  see  myself  a  child  again,  undergoing  the 
dread  I  had  of  having  my  first  teeth  pulled  out  with  a 
waxed  thread;  and  in  the  long  cold  nights  of  winter, 
when  my  hips  and  shoulders  sometimes  ache  with  lying 
so  long,  and  every  feather  I  lie  on  feels  like  a  stout 
twig,  I  remember  with  sad  but  intense  pleasure  how  I 
used  to  snug  up  in  my  father's  arms,  and  he  would 
sometimes  rouse  me  to  hear  the  owls  hooting,  or  the 
rain  beating  on  the  roof.  So  great  an  impression  did 
this  last  incident  make  upon  my  mind,  that  I  to  this  day 
feel  more  comfortable  in  a  house  the  roof  of  which  is 
so  near  me  as  to  allow  the  sound  of  every  drop  of  rain 
to  be  heard  distinctly;  and  if  I  had  to  build  a  house 
for  myself,  would  have  it  of  one  story,  without  a  ceil 
ing,  and  with  a  board  roof. 


88  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

But  among  the  most  touching  of  all  my  memories  in 
life  is  that  of  my  father  in  this  time  of  his  playing 
teacher.  Some  warm  summer  afternoon,  perhaps,  he 
would  come  home,  after  having  ridden  and  been  wor 
ried  with  his  patients  from  ten  o'clock  the  night  before, 
and,  after  first  kissing  my  mother  and  hearing  what 
news  there  was  to  tell,  ho  would  say :  "  Come,  my  son, 
help  me  off  with  my  coat ;"  for  all  his  toil  and  exposure 
had  given  him  rheumatism  in  the  left  shoulder  and 
back.  And  when  I  helped  him  doff  his  threadbare  coat, 
I  would  notice  how  his  pants  were  Avorn  thin  and  white 
behind,  and  how  they  looked  shiny  at  the  knees,  and 
how  his  shirt-collar  and  wristbands  were  frayed ;  and 
knowing  that  it  was  not  my  mother's  fault  (for  no  one 
darned,  and  mended,  and  patched  equal  to  her),  but 
that  he  had  to  stint  himself  to  provide  clothing  and 
food  for  his  family,  my  heart  would  grow  very  tender, 
as  it  does  to  this  day.  After  lying  down  upon  -the 
wooden  settee  on  the  gallery,  with  a  comfortable  pillow 
under  his  head,  he  would  tell  rne  cheerily  to  get  my 
books  and  come  and  say  a  lesson.  Soon,  as  I  read,  his 
eyes  would  begin  to  close  ominously,  then  presently  he 
would  open  them  sleepily  and  say:  "  Read  that  again  !'' 
and  perhaps  before  it  was  fairly  read  his  regular  breath 
ing  would  show  he  was  sound  asleep ;  and  I  would  go 
.off  on  tiptoe  to  my  play,  or  to  finish  my  trap,  or  an 
axe-helve,  or  some  such  pleasant  occupation. 

Ah,  who  can  tell  the  miseries  of  a  poor  professional 
man — particularly  of  a  poor  country  doctor !  The  man 
in  commerce  or  the, laboring  man  can,  without  carping, 
regulate  the  expenditure  of  his  household  by  the  amount 
of  his  income;  poor  profits  aro  expected  to  produce 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  89 

close  living,  and  low  wages  may  without  loss  of 
name  palliate  rags  and  bare  feet.  The  poor  lawyer 
may  keep  his  family  very  private,  and  so  escape  criti 
cism;  and  the  poor  preacher  is  in  the  line  of  his  profes 
sion  when  he  is  miserably 'poor.  But  not  so  the  doctor. 
As  he,  from  his  knowledge  and  position,  is  expected  to 
be  a  gentleman,  so  is  his  wife  expected  to  be  a  lady, 
and  to  dress  as  well  as  act  like  one,  and  to  keep  her 
children  dressed  and  instructed  and  regulated  like  little 
gentlemen  and  ladies.  Her  visitors  must  be  unchecked 
in  number  or  imposition,  .and  her  table  must  conse 
quently  be  always  bountiful  and  neatly  spread,  and  at 
least  one  bed  must  be  very  soft  and  tidy.  Whether 
the  season  be  healthy  or  sickly,  and  whether  good 
crops  insure  the  prompt  payment  of  his  bills,  or  a  fail 
ure  defer  their  settlement,  it  is  all  the  same  with  the 
country  doctor.  Like  a  candidate  who  stands  for  the 
suffrages  of  all,  he  must  be  ready  at  all  times  to  wel 
come  all.  My  father  was  hospitable  from  his  own 
benevolence,  without  a  thought  of  policy.  That  he 
could  do  good,  or  giv$  pleasure,  was  incentive  enough 
for  him ;  and  I  doubt  if  it  ever  occurred  to  his  mind  to 
make  a  distinction  between  those  who  employed  or 
might  employ  him,  and  those  who  should  never  benefit 
kim. 

With  his  wife  and  children  upon  .their  behavior,  it 
is  but  to  be  expected  that  troubles  should  arise  to  the 
poor  doctor's  family;  for  no  mortals  can  at  all  times 
bear  such  a  strain  —  and  woe  the  day  the  trouble 
comes.  His  "Lady"  must  invariably — there  is  no 
escape  that  I  have  ever  heard  of — have  among  her  lady 
visitors  some  friends,  like  Mrs.  Haggles,  of  boundless 
8* 


90  LIFE  AND    OPINIONS  OF 

affection  and  great  fastidiousness,  who,  perhaps,  after 
receiving  from  a  full  heart  some  account  of  troubles  in 
such  general  housekeeping,  will  remark  that  she  was 
sorry  to  observe  that  Mrs.  Dr.  Jenkins  was  getting  to 
have  a  great  dislike  of  company,  or  that  she  was 
shocked  to  notice  that  Dr.  Liffkins  was  either  so  stingy 
to  his  family,  or  his  practice  was  so  falling  off,  that 
poor  Mrs.  Liffkins  is  put  to  the  saddest  straits  to  give 
her  children  bread.  All  of  this,  except  the  imputation 
of  stinginess,  though  but  the  malicious  exaggeration  of 
the  friend,  is  strictly  true ;  yet  by  just  such  gossip 
about  him  and  his  affairs  the  doctor  receives  a  terrible 
injury ;  and  loss  of  practice  is  followed  by  retrenchment, 
and  greater  loss  by  poverty,  which  comes  on  apace. 
Whatever  case  he  may  be  called  to  see,  he  attends  with 
all  his  alacrity  and  professional  skill ;  but  he  finds  idle 
time,  and  begins  to  pay  more  attention  to  his  home- 
concerns,  sees  to  the  patching  up  of  his  fences,  over 
looks  the  garden,  and  soon  becomes  half  farmer  half 
doctor;  curtails  his  own  personal  expenses  even  so  far 
as  to  quit  smoking,  and  yet  bread  is  scarce,  and  often 
he  is  at  his  wit's  end  to  know  where  the  next  shall 
come  from 

His  affairs  may  take  a  turn  and  he  may  have  prosper 
ity  again,  but  how  wretched  is  now  his  case !  But  one 
thing  could  add  to  its  misery.  If  his  wife  should  be 
so  unloving  or  so  weak  as  to  reproach  him,  his  cup 
would  indeed  run  over.  The  only  patience  which 
could  ever  stand  that  was  Job's,  and  even  he  told  his 
wife  she  spake  "  as  one  of  the  foolish  women  speaketli." 
Indeed,  the  reproaches  of  Job's  wife  were  the  poor 
man's  crucial  test.  The  loss  of  property  and  of  chil- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  91 

dren  and  of  health  are  all  in  the  natural  and  ordinary 
course  of  nature,  but  the  reproaches  of  the  woman  one 
loves,  and  has  promised,  both  verbally  and  by  the  very 
act  of  loving  and  marrying,  to  cherish,  provide  for,  and 
protect,  when  added  to  the  already  unutterable  wretch 
edness  caused  by  disaster  or  failure,  are  too  much.  She 
must  of  necessity  make  comparisons  with  the  success 
of  other  men ;  and  then  pride,  jealousy, — in  fine,  his 
manliness, — all  the  combatant  principles  of  his  nature 
are  aroused  and  rampant. 

My  father's  affairs  were  for  awhile  at  a  low  ebb, 
and  he  and  his  were  subjected  to  all  the  troubles  I 
have  here  alluded  to ;  but  fortunately  his  philosophy 
and  Christian  faith  were  n^)t  put  to  the  test  of  the  re. 
proaches  of  his  wife.  The  dear  little  woman  not  only 
loved  her  husband,  but  was  very  proud  of  him.  "The 
Doctor"  could  do  no  wrong;  his  failures  were  not  his 
fault,  and  his  successes  were  triumphs  over  unheard-of 
opposition  Had  he  been  sole  candidate  for  some  un 
desirable  office,  she  would  have  ascribed  his  election  to 
his  admitted  superiority  and  the  fear  of  others  to  run 
against  him;  and  if  he  should  have  met  with  opposi 
tion  and  defeat,  she  would  have  felt  it  a  thousandfold 
more  than  he,  and  would  have  heartily  disliked  the 
fortunate  candidate  and  all  his  supporters,  though  her 
husband  and  all  the  world  should  have  praised  them. 

This  was  not  from  want  of  knowledge  and  sound 
discretion  on  her  part.  Few  women  had  higher  claims 
to  be  called  intellectual  and  wise,  but  her  intellectuality 
and  wisdom  were,  like  those  of  all  true  women,  modi 
fied  by  her  affections.  It  is  generally  useless  to  argue 
against  feeling;  and,  in  fact,  when  I  see  one,  a  woman 


92  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

especially,  allow  cold  reason  to  triumph  over  natural 
feelings,  I  always  imagine  that  there  is  a  little  hypocrisy 
in  the  matter.    It  will  not  do  to  trust  to  such  apparent' 
convictions. 

People  are  very  prone  to  praise  filial  affection,  as 
though  it  were  a  merit.  (^There  is  most  generally  no 
merit  in  it,  though  the  want  of  it  is  sometimes  a  hid 
eous  viceA  To  support,  and  honor  unworthy  parents 
may  indeea  be  an  effort  of  virtue,  but  I  cannot  concede 
that  I  ever  deserved  praise  for  honoring  my  parents. 
It  may  be  gathered  from  what  I  have  already  said  that 
my  father  was  worthy  of  all  my  love  and  admiration ; 
but  my  mother  was  no  less  lovely  and  admirable,  to 
her  children  and  dependants,  at  least. 

I  do  not  recollect  the  minute  that  she  was  free  from 
cares  and  annoyances,  nor  do  I  recgllect  a  day  when 
she  allowed  them  to  lessen  her  hope  and  energy. 
Though  her  frame  was  delicate,  and  from  her  youth 
up  she  was  subject  to  more  pains  and  aches  than  most 
women  are,  and  had  to  be  shielded  from  exposure  like 
an  exotic,  she  raised  a  large  family  through  all  the  ail 
ments  incident  to  childhood,  and  cheered  my  father  in 
all  his  toils  and  troubles  as  no  woman  less  gentle,  wise, 
and  brave,  however  robust,  could  have  done.  From 
his  instructions  and  her  own  observation  and  frequent 
experience,  she  became  in  a  few  years  a  really  good 
physician  herself,  so  far  as  to  note  and  understand 
symptoms;  "and  her  knowledge,  added  to  her  strong 
and  unerring  sympathy,  made  her  one  of  the  very  best 
of  nurses.  It  seems  to  me  yet  that  she  always  knew 
intuitively  how  an'd  where  one's  pain  was,  and  what 
was  the  host  method  of  relief.  Her  gentle  hand,  I 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  93 

know,  always  soothed  my  racking  head,  and  no  one 
could  arrange  the  pillows  so  softly  and  the  cover  so  fit 
tingly  as  she.  Nor  were  her  family  the  only  persons 
to  whom  she  was  a  blessing,  both  in  sickness  and  in 
health.  Old  Mrs.  Blodgett  thought  that  no  broth. was 
so  nourishing,  and  no  jellies  and  cooling  drinks  were 
so  grateful,  as  those  she  prepared;  and  very  many  per 
sons  participated  in  Mrs.  Blodgett's  belief,  and  were 
never  so  contented  in  trouble  as  when  Mrs.  Page  made 
them  a  visit.  It  was  strange  how  her  tender  frame 
could  endure  the  fatigue  of  nursing  the  sick  as  it  did, 
but  the  spirit  Avithin  her  was  that  of  an  archangel,  and 
when  it  seemed  that  her  aching  head  and  weary  limbs 
would,  after  days  and  nights  of  watching,  hardly  allow 
her  to  totter  from  the  bedside  of  one  of  her  sick  chil 
dren  to  that  of  another,  she  would  always  rouse  to 
meet  any  new  emergency.  If  she  could  not  walk,  she 
would  crawl;  if  she  could  not  see  for  blinding  pain,  she 
would  feel.  She  was  one  of  those  who  can  be  faithful 
unto  death,  and  esteem  such'  faithfulness  the  most  nat 
ural  of  all  things.  "Ah,"  I  used  to  think,  "ah,  Mr. 
Emperor  Napoleon,  if  my  little  mother  were  only  over 
there  in  Europe,  and  had  the  matter  placed  in-  her 
hands,  she'd  stop  your  career,  and,  lug  you  by  the  ear 
to  your  seat,  for  all  she  is  so  gentle  and  loving!" 

Her  taste,  too,  and  her  knowledge  of  economy,  were 
not  less  than  wonderful.  Those  were  not  the  days  in 
our  part  of  the  country  when  young  ladies  were  edu 
cated  in  all  the  isms  and  ologies,  nor  did  they  have 
milliners  and  mantua-makers  in  every  village.  A  fash 
ion  was  long  out  of  date  in  Europe  and  the  North  be 
fore  it  reached  Yatton,  and  when  it  did  get  there,  it  was 


94  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

soon  modified  by  good  sense  to  the  rules  of  good  taste ; 
for  there  was  little  rivalry  as  to  who  should  copy  it  the 
most  exactly,  and  a  good  deal  of  wholesome  modesty, 
and  fear  of  being  outree  even  in  so  fantastic  and  irreg 
ular  a  thing  as  fashion.  My  mother,  with  none  of  the 
advantages  of  education  in  modern  high  art,  had  a 
natural  taste  for  simple  elegance  which  never  Avcnt 
astray,  and  her  young  friends  were  glad  to  profit  by 
what  was  so  rare  in  itself,  and  so  kindly  placed  at  their 
service  for  decorating  their  persons,  their  parlors,  or 
their  gardens.  There  was  a  keen  and  unerring  appre 
ciation  of  the  beautiful  which  moved  like  a  sweet 
th.ema  through  all  her  life,  and  harmonized  discords  as 
though  they  were  a  necessary  part  to  its  melody.  Her 
movements  were  grace  itself,  and  all  her  aspirations 
were  induced  \)j  love.  She  played  upon  no  musical 
instrument,  for  in  her  youth  there  were  no  pianos  bang 
ing  the  life  out  of  every  echo  in  the  land.  I  myself 
was  a  large  boy  before  I  ever  saw  one  of  those  wretched 
instruments,  which  have  caused  more  nervous  pain,  and 
more  waste  of  time  and  money  than  a  thirty  years' war. 
But  my  mother's  voice  was  as  sweet  as  that  of  an  In 
dian  girl,  and  she  sang  with  charming  correctness  and 
feeling  the  simple  ballads  then  in  vogue.  Drawing  and 
painting  were  also  then,  as  now,  almost  entirely  un 
known  in  female  education,  yet  from  essays  that  I  have 
seen,  and  from  what  I  know  of  the  justness  of  her  eye 
for  proportions  and  colors,  I  know  that  she  had  a  talent 
for  both,  and  could  have  excelled  in  them.  Indeed, 
whatever  of  taste  in  art  I  may  have  ever  had,  and  my 
passionate  love  for  music,  for  flowers  and  perfumes, 
and  every  other  beautiful  and  sweet  thing  in  nature  or 


AliH  AH  AM  PAGE,  ESQ.  95 

art,  I  derived  for  the  most  part  from  my  mother,  though 
my  father,  from  whom  I  inherited  the  form  and  consti 
tution  of  my  body,  was  by  no  means  deficient  in  those 
things. 

The  darling  little  woman !  She  was  as  modest  and 
innocent  after  she  had  raised  her  large  family  of  chil 
dren  as  she  was  when  she  first  became  a  blushing, 
trembling  wife.  Never  in  all  my  life  did  I  hear  a  coarse 
expression  from  her  lips,  or  see  or  hear  any  evidence  of 
aught  but  perfect  purity  of  mind.  She  was  one  of  the 
very  few  persons  I  have  known  who  was  always  just 
and  ladylike  even  in  her  greatest  anger;  and  though 
she  could  doubtless,  being  a  woman,  aggravate,  and 
run  husband  and  servants  wild,  I  never  knew  her  to 
indulge  her  natural  instinct  in  that  way. 

I  ascribe  her  innocence  and  amiability  not  to  her 
natural  disposition  alone,  but  in  a  great  measure  to  the 
character  and  conduct  of  my  father.  He  was  not  one 
who  indulged  in  broad  jokes  and  vulgar  allusions.  He 
carried  into  his  married  life  a  profound  respect  for 
woman  which  characterized  his  bachelorhood.  Although 
he  could  relish  any  conversation  which  had  wit  or  hu 
mor  in  it,  he  detested  what  was  in  itself  unseemly  or 
bred  unchaste  ideas.  '  He  could  see  and  appreciate 
double  entendres,  but  he  never  explained  them  to  her, 
and  I  verily  believe  that  to  the  last  day  of  her  life  she 
could  have  read  Tristram  Shandy  and  pronounced  it 
obscure  and  flat.  Then,  too,  her  love  for  him  was  so 
intense,  and  so  mingled  with  mspect,  that  she  not  only 
could  never  think  of  scolding  him,  or  scolding  in  his 
presence;  but  she  couid  never  do  in  his  absence  any 
thing  of  which  she  thought  he  might  disapprove.  Many 


96  LIFE  AND    OPINIONS   OF 

women  give  eye-service.  I  will  not  say  that  most  do 
so,  for  I  do  not  know  it  to  be  the  fact ;  but  many  do, 
and  it  shows  both  that  they  do  not  love  with  respect, 
and  that  they  are  cowardly.  My  mother  was  afraid  of 
her  husband,  just  as  her  children  were  always  afraid 
both  of  him  and  her, — not  afraid  of  blows  or  harsh 
ness,  but  afraid  of  wounding  his  love.  How  could  she, 
by  her  words  or  acts,  bring  a  cloud  upon  the  countenance 
of  the  strong  and  gentle  man  whose  approval  was  as 
the  light  of  her  life  !  And  when  he,  the  Bread-winner, 
was  absent  toiling  for  her  and  their  children,  she  was 
jealous  to  do  her  part  to  lessen  his  necessity  for  labor 
and  to  comfort  his  weariness.  When  he  would  fall 
asleep  hearing  my  lessons,  her  whole  household  talked 
in  whispers,  and  went  on  tip-toe  Jest  he  should  lose  his 
rest;  and  when  he  waked  the  sun  rose,  and  all  was 
light  and  life.  He  never  waked  to  find  her  standing 
near  to  pour  upon  him  an  account  of  domestic  troubles, 
or  of  our  childish  mischiefs.  If  troubles  had  occurred, 
she  chose  her  time  to  tell  them,  when  they  would  annoy 
him  least ;  and  if  any  of  us  had  been  particularly  good, 
or  deserving  of  praise,  she  related  it  when  he  most 
needed  to  be  cheered. 

It  will  not  here  be  out  of  place  to  mention  two  things 
she  never  did,  though  I  doubt  if  she  ever  went  through 
the  formality  of  making  definite  rules  for  her  conduct: 
she  never  concealed  anything  from  her  husband,  and 
she  never  threatened  her  children  with  their  father. 
The  consequences  were  that  he  was  never  suspicious, 
and  that  they  were  always  frank  and  unrestrained  with 
him. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE.  ESQ.  97 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

WAS  tired  of  school-books.  For  eight  years  I  had 
been  kept  steadily  at  them,  and,  what  with  idle 
masters,  lazy  masters,  and  ignorant  masters,  and  the 
grinding  work  of  uninteresting  lessons,  1  was  fagged. 
My  father's  lessons  were  fun,  and  I  had  a  great  idea  ot 
getting  learning  by  the  easy  plan  of  studyingjust  when 
I  felt  like  it — if,  indeed,  book-learning  were  worth  the 
getting.  I  doubted  then  if  it  were  worth  the  trouble, 
and  now,  in  my  old  age,(l  doubt  if  education  in  books 
be  desirable  for  the  mass  of  the  human  race^.  I  am 
sure  that  but  for  the  purposes  of  extended  commerce, 
it  is,  for  the  most  part,  not  only  useless,  but  hurtful. 

Education,  unless  it  be  to  greater  facility  in  some 
useful  employment,  is  a  humbug.  Give  your  son  all 
the  book-learning  of  which  his  mind  is  capable,  and 
what  are  the  consequences?  Unless  he  make  it  useful 
to  himself,  and,  consequently,  to  his  fellow-men  in  the 
ways  and  works  of  life,  it  does  not  benefit;  and  unless 
it  result  in  making  him  a  sincere  Christian,  it  leads  to 
his  greater  eternal  condemnation. 

This  may  sound  harsh,  but  it  is  certainly  true.  The 
great  gloze  of  the  devil  in  this  day  and  generation  of 
psychological  nonsense,  is  this  very  cant  about  book 
education. 

To  understand  several  languages  is  useful,  certainly; 
so  are  Algebra,  and  Conic  Sections,  and  the  Calculus 

9  a 


98  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

of  Variations — they  are  useful  because  they  lead  to 
higher  results  of  utility.  In  themselves  they  are  mere 
curiosities,  and  the  eye-tooth  of  Cleopatra  or  the  big- 
toe  nails  of  Julius  Caesar  would  be  just  as  useful  to 
most  men  as  the  possession  of  all  these  results  of  intel 
lectual  labor.  With  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  out 
of  every  thousand,  they  neither  lead  nor  can  lead  to 
any  useful  results  to  themselves  or  their  fellows. 

It  is  all  stuff  to  talk  about  the  usefulness  of  such 
studies  to  fit  the  mind  for  high  thought,  and  to  improve 
the  intellectual  part  of  man  which  must  live  throughout 
eternity.  If  a  man  had  plenty  of  money,  and  no  one 
dependent  on  him,  and  no  earthly  duties  to  perform,  he 
might  lead  a  life  of  purely  intellectual  improvement — 
granting,  which  I  do  not,  that  books,  of  themselves, 
improve  the  intellect.  But  this  is  a  working  world,  and 
the  men  in  it  have  duties  toward  themselves  and  each 
other  to  perform  which  are  not  intellectual,  but  muscu 
lar.  They  have  only  this  life  to  perform  them  in — and 
it  is  far  better  to  go  to  heaven  with  all  duties  performed, 
and  spend  eternity  in  improving  the  mind,  than  to  go 
there,  or  into  condemnation,  with  minds  full  of  human 
learning,  and  the  world  none  the  better  or  happier  for 
their  having  lived  in  it. 

But  I  go  further  than  that.  To  most  men  reading 
and  writing  are  of  no  use  except  to  convey  or  fix  their 
plans  of  business,  and  arithmetic  of  no  advantage  ex 
cept  to  prevent  their  being  cheated  in  their  transactions. 
When  a  man  has  those  three  branches  of  learning,  he 
has  all  he  can  get  from  books  essential  to  usefulness  in 
•any  ordinary  sphere  of  life.  But,  in  sober  truth,  they 
do  not  advantage  one  in  a  hundred,  either  mentally  or 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  99 

morally.  They  arc  but  tools,  after  all ;  and  to  give  a 
savage  a  jack-plane,  or  a  screw-driver,  or  a  watch, 
would  do  both  his  morals  and  understanding  less  harm 
than  to  give  an  ignoramus  a  knowledge  of  these  items 
of  learning.  The  chances  are  very  great  that  in  neither 
case  will  the  instruments  be  put  to  a  proper  use.  They 
will  either  be  thown  away,  or  used  for  injury  to  himself 
or  others.  To  hear  atheism  in  its  most  aggravated 
form,  go  to  the  work-shops  and  among  the  half-educated 
work-people  of  any  civilized  land. 

My  argument,  rightly  considered,  does  not  tend  to 
depriving  the  masses  of  education ;  but  it  recognizes 
the  tremendous  responsibility  they  incur  when  they 
learn  to  read,  and  sets  forth  the  egregious  folly  of  giving 
them  educations  in  books  at  the  expense  of  years  of 
laborious,  useless,  idleness — for  the  time  spent  at  col 
leges  and  schools  is  just  that,  in  the  vast  majority  of 
cases.  If  a  boy  be  by  nature  cut  out  for  a  fiddler,  or  a  doc 
tor,  or  a  lawyer,  or  an  engineer,  a  fiddler,  doctor,  lawyer, 
or  engineer,  of  some  sort,  he  will  become,  if  he  have  the 
energy  of  genius — and,  in  the  name  of  common  sense, 
let  him  have  every  advantage.  But  the  mass  of  man 
kind  are  of  the  average  class,  and  what  an  awful  mis 
take  is  made  when  you  attempt — as  is  done  by  the 
present  system  of  education  in  books — to  make  them  all, 
at  the  same  time,  lawyers,  doctors,  musicians,  engineers, 
astronomers,  chemists,  geologists,  and  linguists!  And 
even  suppose  such  an  education  were  not  altogether 
vain,  and  all  men  could  become,  to  a  considerable  de 
gree,  all  of  these  things,  who  are  to  do  the  manual 
labors  of  life  ?  Who  are  to  do  the  shoe-making,  and 
tailoring,  and  weaving,  and  rope-making,  and  work- 


100  LIFE  AXI)    OPINIONS   OF 

ing  iii  iron,  and.  brass,  and  gold,  to  do  the  building, 
and  to  till  the  soil  ? 

The  course  of  reasoning  seems  to  be  this :  We  have 
here  a  noble  country,  with  a  fertile  soil  and  pleasant 
climate ;  we  must  make  it  a  rich  and  great  country,  and 
we  will  import  Yankees,  and  Dutchmen,  and  Irishmen, 
to  do  the  work  the  negroes  cannot  do,  and  our  sons 
shall  be  the  gentlemen,  to  doctor,  and  to  do  justice,  and 
to  keep  store,  and  to  gouge  around  among  strata,  and 
to  take  heavenly  observations  for  them  all ;  or  the  gen 
tlemen  of  elegant  leisure  to  do  the  dressing  and  the 
manners,  and  be  the  high  society. 

No  one  will  grant  that  he  is  such  a  fool  as  to  scheme 
deliberately  in  this  way,  and  yet  the  present  course  of 
education  practically  proves  that  he  does  so.  When 
his  son  has  attained  all  the  knowledge  with  which  it  is 
proposed  to  cram  him,  and  turns  out  neither  doctor  nor 
lawyer — is  too  openly  wicked  to  be  a  preacher,  and  too 
poor  to  be  a  gentleman — he  is  so  old  that  the  shoe 
maker's  bristle,  and  the  tailor's  needle,  and  the  graver's 
tool,  and  the  trowel  are  unwieldy ;  and  by  the  time  he 
has  become  deft  with  them,  more  than  half  his  life  is 
spent.  He  is  a  bungling  apprentice  when  he  should  be 
a  master  workman,  is  earning  only  the  bread  he  eats 
when  he  should  be  supporting  a  family,  and  is  blushing 
for  his  occupation  when  he  should  be  holding  his  head 
up  like  a  man. 

At  any  rate,  I  was  tired  of  school-books,  and  dreaded 
going  back  to  school  ;  and  as  I  had  a  great  taste  for 
the  pleasures  of  agriculture  and  horticulture,  I  an 
nounced  my  desire  to  be  a  planter.  Nothing  seemed 
to  be  so  pleasing  to  my  father  ;  but  he  very  wisely  told 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  101 

rue  that  I  could  never  plant  satisfactorily  to  myself,  or 
manage  negroes  justly,  unless  I  was  practically  ac 
quainted  with  every  kind  of  plantation  work.  I  could 
not  otherwise  tell  if  the  negroes  did  their  work  prop 
erly  and  industriously,  and  might  require  of  them  too 
much,  or  be  imposed  upon  by  them  with  too  little.  So 
he  gave  me  a  horse  and  a  plow,  a  hoe  and  an  axe,  and 
I  set  to  work  and  made  me  a  maul  out  of  the  but  of  a 
small  beech,  well  hardened  in  the  fire. 

My  choice  to  become  a  planter  was  about  the 
strangest  I  ever  made  in  my  life.  I  never  dreamed  of 
becoming  an  overseer  of  another's  negroes;  I  would 
have  starved  first;  and  yet,  suppose  I  became  a 
planter,  where  was  my  land  and  where  were  my 
negroes  to  commence  with?  The  three  grown  ne 
groes  my  father  owned  were  a  small  and  most  un 
likely  capital,  even  if  they  could  all  be  spared  from  the 
house  to  the  field ;  and  his  land  was,  as  I  have  shown, 
not  well  calculated  for  extensive  planting  operations. 
With  an  increasing  family — increasing  in  number  and 
expensiveness — and  with  a  decaying  practice,  it  was 
not  at  all  probable  that  my  father  could  invest  money 
in  other  negroes  or  in  better  land.  But  to  be  a  planter 
I  was  determined,  and  I  set  to  work  bravely  and  hope 
fully  at  all  the  labors  required  upon  a  plantation. 

The  fact  is,  that  though  I  saw  and  felt  that  my  father 
was  poor,  I  did  not  believe  he  was  so  in  reality.  I 
had  an  idea,  or  rather  a  suspicion  (where  I  obtained  it 
I  cannot  now  tell),  that  he  was  very  rich,  but  lived  as 
though  he  were  poor,  for  the  sake  of  raising  me  to  in 
dustrious  habits,  and  prevent  my  becoming  extrava 
gant,  or  dissipated,  or  a  fop ;  arid  I  pictured  to  myself 
9* 


102  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

that  some  day,  when  he  saw  me  fixed  in  principle  and 
steady  habits,  he  would  develop  his  wealth  and  give 
me  land  and  negroes,  flocks  and  herds,  without  a  fear 
that  I  would  take  a  journey  into  a  far  country  and 
there  waste  my  substance  in  riotous  living. 

I  say  that  I  do  not  know  where  I  got  this  idea;  and 
yet  to  a  boy  of  my  disposition  it  was  natural,  and  in 
all  probability  many  a  one  has  had  the  same  idea 
about  a  father  just  as  poor.  It  was  certain,  in  the  first 
place,  that  if  my  father  were  indeed  poor,  he  did  not  re 
semble  in  any  degree  the  other  poor  men  I  saw  around 
us.  He  was  an  elegant  gentleman  in  manners,  person, 
and  education,  and  was  considered  the  superior  in  most 
respects  to  any  of  those  known  to  be  rich  men  in  our 
county;  whereas  the  other  poor  men  that  I  saw  were 
coarse  in  their  manners,  uncouth  in  their  persons  and 
clothing,  and  showed  ignorance  in  their  ideas  and  man 
ner  of  speech.  In  the  next  place,  nothing  was  more 
likely  than  that  a  father  so  loving  and  wise  as  he, 
should,  for  the  sake  of  raising  his  children  to  virtue 
and  usefulness,  deny  himself  every  luxury,  and  set 
them  a  good  example  by  hard  labor  and  close  econ 
omy.  My  own  observation  showed  me  the  danger  to 
which  the  sons  of  those  reputed  rich  were  exposed. 
Examples  of  their  idleness  and  vicious  indulgences 
were  constantly  before  me.  I  saw  them  shirk  labor  at 
books,  and  in  any  useful  employment,  to  expend  their 
powers  on  dress,  fast  horses,  and  drunken  frolics ;  and 
it  seemed  to  me  but  reasonable  that  my  father  should 
affect  poverty,  to  avert  from  his  children  the  danger  of 
acting  like  them. 

I  wish  it  to  be  thoroughly  understood  that  for  all 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  103 

this  I  was  no  fool.  If  I  pleased  my  fancy  with  these 
chimeras,  they  were  nothing  more  than  might  have 
been  realities  in  the  natural  fitness  of  things.  Though 
my  father  was  really  poor,  he  was  one  who  should  in 
all  propriety  have  been  rich ;  and  it  would  very  well 
have  become  the  wisest  of  men  to  have  acted  as  I  con 
ceived  him  to  be  acting.  I  protest  that  I  was  no  fool 
in  this  matter,  but  was  far  more  wise  than  I  have  been 
many  a  time  since,  when  I  had  reason  and  probabilities 
stronger  on  my  side.  I  was  merely  a  healthy  boy,  of 
lively  imagination,  good  reasoning  powers,  and  exuber 
ant  hopefulness;  and  though  my  idea  was  ill  founded, 
it  rather  made  me  strive  all  the  harder  at  my  labor  to 
make  myself  worthy  of  the  possible  fate  in  store  for 
me,  and  to  hasten  the  time  of  its  fruition  in  case  it 
should  be  true;  for  I  always  put  the  case  to  myself 
with  a  "  suppose,  now,"  and  said  that  if  it  were  not  true 
it  ought  to  be,  and  was  very  well  invented. 

I  take  credit  to  myself  for  working  as  hard  as  I  did, 
because  I  had  other  and  more  serious  motives  than  that 
of  fitting  myself  for  a  state  of  temporal  beatitude — 
which,  after  all,  was  only  a  passing,  pleasing  idea.  I 
saw  and  pitied  the  toils  and  troubles  of  my  parents, 
and  loved  them  and  my  brothers  and  sisters  too  well  to 
see  them  want  for  anything  I  might  obtain  for  them. 
Young  as  I  was,  I  thought  myself  a  man  to  labor,  and 
quite  a  genius  in  some  things — particularly  in  the  mat 
ter  of  axe  helves,  of  which  I  made  a  dozen  from  a 
piece  of  hickory  I  thought  very  choice,  and  sold  them 
to  a  friendly  merchant  in  the  town,  who  was  willing  to 
encourage  honest  industry  to  the  sum  of  two  dollars 
and  a  half,  which  he  paid  me — and  of  which  I  was 


104  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

very  proud  till  I  saw  the  same  axe  helves,  some  years 
afterward,  among  his  unsalable  stock.  He  was  a  very 
generous  merchant,  I  thought  then,  more  than  I  did 
when  he  paid  me  the  money ;  and  but  that  I  consid 
ered  that  in  our  subsequent  dealings  he  had  quite  made 
up  for  the  price  he  paid,  I  would  most  certainly  have 
returned  it. 

I  take  the  more  credit  to  myself  that  the  work  was 
hard.  When  I  rose  in  the  morning,  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
I  thought  my  bed  the  most  desirable  of  all  earthly 
places,  and  at  night  this  thought  came  fresh  upon  me. 
Often  when  I  was  roused  I  would  fall  asleep  again,  and 
dream  that  I  was  up  and  at  the  stable  feeding  my 
horse  and  preparing  him  for  the  field,  and  just  as  I  was 
about  to  tie  my  hame-string,  whack !  would  come  a 
broad  band  upon  my  back,  and  I  would  jump,  to  find 
myself  in  bed,  and  my  father  standing  over  me  asking 
why  I  was  not  up  and  dressed  and  at  my  work. 

Poor  little  fellow!  I  can  see  myself  now,  hilling  cot 
ton  in  the  burning  sun  of  June  (for  we  planted  a  little 
cotton  that  year),  and  pausing  to  look  upon  a  stump 
and  wish  that  it  had  a  soda  fountain  in  it,  and  I  could 
lie  down  and  let  it  run  into  my  mouth  fresh  and  cold. 
How  terribly  thirsty  I  got !  and  how  often  I  had  to  go 
to  the  house  or  the  spring  for  water !  not  that  I  wished 
to  shirk  my  work  and  sought  any  excuse,  but  the  sun 
was  so  hot,  and  the  labor  so  severe,  that  the  only  won 
der  is  I  stood  it  at  all. 

This  was  a  great  era  in  my  life — the  era  of  wonder. 
I  was  always  finding  wonderful  snakes,  wonderful 
flowers,  and  freaks  of  vegetation,  seeing  wonderful 
clouds,  and  sunrises,  and  sunsets.  It  was  my  time  for 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  105 

possum  hunts,  and  coon  dogs;  for  making  famous  shots 
with  rny  rifle — if  it  was  an  old  flint-lock  piece  ;  of  try 
ing  to  make  prodigious  leaps,  and  to  excel  in  strength  ; 
the  time  of  wrestling,  climbing,  and  rudeness.  My 
father  often  gave  me  holiday,  for  he  knew  well  that  the 
labor  was  severe  upon  me,  and,  except  that  it  was 
wholesome,  morally  and  physically  it  could  be  of  little 
other  profit ;  and  in  my  holidays  I  and  the  boys  of  my 
acquaintance  would  play  at  circus,  and  I  would  try  to 
ride  standing  on  bare-back,  and  was  invariably  the 
clown  of  the  occasion. 

Although  I  had  plenty  of  vanity  and  love  of  admira 
tion,  and  was  as  noisy  and  hopeful  as  ever  boy  was,  I 
cannot  say  that  this  was  an  altogether  pleasant  period 
of  my  life.  I  can  recall  to  this  day  that  all  the  time 
there  seemed  to  me  there  was  something  lacking,  though 
what  it  was  I  neither  knew,  nor  do  I  yet  know.  I  was 
just  entering  into  real  thought,  and  into  some  of  the 
realities  of  life,  and  in  spite  of  the  wondrous  things  I 
found,  and  the  new  beauties  of  nature,  I  was  beginning 
to  feel  there  was  a  something  wanting,  or  a  something 
foreboding  which  seemed  to  cast  a  veil  over  the  real 
brightness  of  pleasure,  and  I  used,  at  times,  to  be  very 
melancholy.  Particularly  in  the  evening  twilight,  after 
iny  work  was  done,  and  before  the  candles  were  lit,  I 
would  love  to  get  by  myself  upon  the  fence  of  the  horse 
lot,  and,  listening  to  the  whip-poor-wills  crying  on  the 
hills  and  in  the  hollows  around  the  house,  my  spirits 
would  be  overwhelmed  by  a  vague  sorrow,  and  often 
my  tears  would  flow  almost  imconsciously. 

Whether  this  arose  from  a  mysterious  foreshadowing 
of  sorrows  to  come — and  that  such  an  influence  is  felt 


106  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

cannot  be  contradicted — or  merely  from  that  tinge  of 
sadness  which  all  thinking  persons  must  have  in  some 
degree,  need  not  be  too  diligently  inquired  into.  I 
presume  that  almost  every  man  can  recollect  a  period 
in  his  youth  when  his  state  of  mind  resembled  this  I 
have  attempted  to  describe,  and  I  will  not  lengthen  out 
my  recollections  of  it  for  fear  of  being  tiresome. 

Only  one  thing  further  I  would  remark  about  it;  it 
was  a  continuous  state  of  mind,  not  a  mere  impression 
upon  the  feelings  by  any  special  cause  for  sorrow.  For 
instance,  it  cannot  be  explained  by  such  an  incident  as 
this :  when  I  was  about  eight  years  old,  one  night  at 
prayers  I  got  to  thinking  of  heaven  and  death,  and 
imagining  what  a  dreadful  thing  it  would  be  if  my 
father  should  die,  and  the  thought  set  me  to  weeping 
bitterly.  When  we  rose  from  our  knees  my  father  took 
me  in  his  arms,  and  asked  me  tenderly  what  ailed  me, 
and  receiving  no  answer  but  increased  sobbing,  took 
up  the  idea  that  my  stomach  ached  me,  and  feeling  the 
waist-band  of  my  pants  that  it  was  tight,  he  unbuttoned 
them  impatiently,  and  jerked  them  off  me,  telling  my 
mother  that  it  was  a  shame  she  should  make  the  boy's 
pants  to  bind  him  so.  My  shame  for  the  cause  of  my 
weeping  made  me  seize  upon  the  excuse,  and  I  let  it 
pass  as  true,  though  my  poor  dear  little  mother  had  to 
bear  the  blame.  It  was,  I  believe,  the  first  lie  I  was 
ever  guilty  of,  and  belonged  to  a  very  numerous  class 
of  lies — the  sentimental. 

These  discursions  from  the  thread  of  my  story,  though 
they  may  be  uninteresting  to  others,  afford  me  great 
pleasure.  I  think  of  myself  not  as  myself,  but  as  a  lit 
tle  boy  I  used  to  know,  and  of  whose  feelings  I  had  an 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  107 

intimate  knowledge ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  in 
describing  him  correctly  I  am  portraying  human  nature 
— which,  after  all,  is  the  most  useful  kind  of  writing. 

To  tell  of  all  our  disasters  in  planting  would  fill  a 
volume.  The  hogs  had  a  special  spite  at  our  garden ; 
and  one  spotted  ox,  a  famous  fence-breaker,  seemed  to 
be  discontented  everywhere  but  in  our  field,  and  every 
morning  would  find  him  there  like  an  enterprising 
eunuch,  the  pilot  and  pioneer  of  a  bevy  of  placid  cows 
and  frisky  yearlings.  Small  shot,  peas,  and  salt  bacon 
shot  into  his  sides  one  day,  were  forgotten  the  next, 
or,  rather,  only  served  to  stimulate  him  to  get  out  of 
the  inclosure  as  soon  as  possible  after  he  was  discovered. 
It  would  have  taken  a  very  high  and  strong  fence  to 
have  kept  him  out,  and  ours,  made  of  pine  poles,  was 
neither  high  nor  strong.  We  would  patch  with  infinite 
labor  where  he  broke  in  one  day,  and  congratulate 
ourselves  upon  future  safety,  but  the  next  day  would 
have  to  patch  again  in  a  different  place.  And  so  it 
went  on,  until  what  with  the  cattle,  and  blight,  and 
worms,  and  sore-shin,  and  rust,  and  rain,  the  crop  of 
cotton  we  gathered  was  a  mere  handful,  and  even  our 
harvest  of  nubbins  was  very  small. 

This  was  discouraging ;  but  I  went  at  it  the  second 
year  with  high  hopes,  to  find  the  same  fate ;  and  then  I 
concluded  that  planting  was  a  slow  business,  and  one 
in  which  I  could  never  succeed.  Nothing  succeeds 
where  it  is  done  with  "a  lick  and  a  promise,"  as  the 
old  folk  used  to  say.  The  planter  or  farmer  who  is 
always  patching  his  fences  imperfectly,  and  his  barns 
and  outhouses,  wagons  and  utensils,  is  in  a  bad  way ; 
and  an  impatient  man  will  always  come  to  that,  how 
ever  well  fixed  he  may  start  out. 


108  LIFE  AND    OPINIONS  OF 


CHAPTER   IX. 

• 

WHEN  I  concluded  that  manual  labor  was  not  my 
mission,  I  was  seventeen  years  old,  and  as  my 
school  days  were  over,  and  my  father  had  not  yet  ac 
knowledged  himself  rich,  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
that  I  should  choose  some  occupation  for  a  livelihood, 
and,  besides,  I  was  ambitious  to  do  a  man's  work  in 
the  world.  I  have  already  told  why  I  did  not  become 
a  doctor  or  a  fiddler,  and  my  reasons  for  not  being-  a 
preacher — as  my  mother  would  have  rejoiced  to  see 
me — for  good  women  are  curious  creatures  about  that 
matter — were  even  more  substantial,  though  they  were 
then  matters  of  feeling  which  I  could  not  have  ex 
plained,  as  I  can  now.  We  were  a  pious  set  of  chil 
dren,  both  by  nature  (for  a  certain  degree  of  piety  is  in 
nate)  and  by  education — though  I  must  say  that  of  all 
exhibitions  of  spurious  sentiment,  that  presented  in 
modern  Sunday-school  books  and  modern  literature,  of 
good  little  children,  is  the  most  disgusting.  We  were 
not  "good"  in  that  mawkish  sense,  for  we  were  healthy 
and  natural,  with  strong  wills,  and  hearty  appetites  and 
aifections.  But  we  were  both  pious  and  religious.  My 
little  sister  Bel  used  to  pray  for  curls  with  all  the 
hope  and  faith  with  which  any  grown  person  would 
pray  for  deliverance  from  poverty  and  temptation. 
But  I  never  fancied  the  profession  of  preaching,  and, 
for  reasons  I  will  hereafter  give,  ana  now  very  glad 
that  I  did  not. 


A  !i  It  AH  AM  PAGE,  ESQ.  109 

Nor  did  I  incline  to  commerce,  to  which  Stanley 
Ruggles  had  betaken  himself  with  an  aptitude  I  did 
not  envy.  The  principle  of  profit  which  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  Trade,  places  one  in  great  danger — and 
I  always  thought  that  the  man  who  prayed  not  to  be 
led  into  temptation,  and  yet  voluntarily  engaged  in 
merchandise,  was  very  inconsistent.  It  sounds  very 
harsh,  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  reason  why 
so  great  a  proportion  of  merchants  hold  up  their  heads 
as  honest  men,  is  that  custom  has  deprived  many  trans 
actions  of  their  odium,  which  in  a  purer  age  would  be 
accounted  dishonest.  To  have  to  buy  for  the  least 
tempts  a  man  to  beat  down  the  price,  and  to  find  his 
chances  in  the  misfortunes  and  ignorance  of  others; 
and  to  have  to  sell  for  the  most,  places  even  greater 
temptations  in  his  way.  Nor  can  any  tradesman  fly 
these  temptations.  They  are  inseparable  from  his 
business,  and  though  he  may  say  "aroyntthec,  Satan  1" 
if  he  never,  in  the  minutest  detail,  habitually  deviate 
from  charity  and  perfect  truth,  he  has  occasion  to  be 
thankful  for  a  more  than  ordinary  share  of  the  grace  of 
God.  It  would  be  going  too  far  for  me  to  say  that  no 
merchant  can  be  honest,  for  I  have  known  many  so 
honest  as  to  break  at  the  business.  But  I  can  say  with 
a  fair  degree  of  certainty,  that  he  who  has  succeeded  in 
accumulating  a  fortune  by  his  business,  without  resort 
ing  to  unfairness  which  is  made  fair  only  by  the  cus 
tom  of  trade,  is  a  fortunate  man. 

The  idea  that  goods  are  worth  whatever  they  will 

fetch  is  one  of  those  untruths  which  seem  to  have  been 

made  an  inherent  principle  of  trade.    But  I  have  never 

yet  been  able  to  see  how  an  hundred  per  cent,  profit  is 

10 


110  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

as  fair  as  ten  per  cent.  If  I  give  two  dollars  for  what 
only  cost  the  merchant  one  dollar,  either  I  am  giving 
more  than  a  fair  value,  or  the  article  was  purchased 
and  brought  to  the  spot  for  less  than  its  worth,  and 
therefore  advantage  is  either  taken  of  my  necessities  or 
ignorance,  or  has  been  taken  of  the  necessities  or  igno 
rance  of  the  first  seller  and  the  carrier.  Is  not  this  ex 
emplified  every  day  in  the  increased  or  diminished 
prices  of  goods  according  to  supply  ? 

Possibly  I  am  in  error,  owing  to  my  own  stupidity 
in  all  matters  of  trade — a  business  for  which  I  have 
never  had  the  hardness,  coolness,  patience,  and  shrewd 
ness  necessary  for  success.  But  such  was  and  is  my 
opinion  of  commerce  that  I  never  would  engage  in  it, 
or  suffer  a  son  of  mine,  if  I  had  one,  to  adopt  it  as  his 
business. 

The  Law  was  what  presented  itself  to  my  mind 
with  all  the  allurements  of  fame  as  well  as  wealth ; 
and  my  father  agreed  with  me  that  it  was  the  best 
thing  I  could  go  at.  That  1  should  return  to  study 
with  renewed  ardor  had  been  the  true  reason  of  his 
indulging  my  planting  scheme. 

Behold  me  then  going  to  old  Judge  Jones  as  my 
chosen  preceptor,  and  taking  home  with  me  the  first 
volume  of  Blackstone,  with  all  the  consciousness  of 
one  who  feels  that  he  has  taken  a  most  important  step 
in  life.  The  impression  upon  the  spirits  of  one  who 
has  just  engaged  himself  to  be  married  differs  but  little 
from  that  I  felt  upon  this  occasion,  except  in  degree. 
In  the  grave  consciousness  of  the  life-long  importance 
of  the  choice  are  mingled  bright  gleams  of  hope.  To 
compare  small  things  with  great:  over  the  souiberness 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  \\l 

of  the  importance  of  the  event  is  fitfully  thrown  a  rosy 
light  of  hopefulness,  which  now  shines  steadily,  and 
anon  scintillates  and  flashes  like  the  lights  over  the 
darkness  of  the  northern  sky.  I  knew,  or  rather  said 
to  myself  that  I  knew,  that  to  accomplish  fame  I  must 
work  very  hard,  and  I  repeated  to  myself  the  saying 
that  the  law  was  a  jealous  mistress,  who  required  all 
the  man's  time  and  attention  who  would  have  her  be 
stow  upon  him  her  favors.  But,  like  many  who  read 
the  Bible  and  pass  over  the  precepts  to  seize  eagerly 
the  promises,  I  absorbed  myself  in  the  contemplation  of 
my  rivalry  in  celebrity  to  Coke,  Bacon,  and  Holt,  and 
passed  over,  as  mere  matters  of  course  and  of  easy  ac 
complishment,  the  labors  they  had  used. 

Nevertheless,  I  buckled  to  my  book  with  eagerness, 
and  in  a  very  few  days  found  myself  reading  snatches 
in  all  four  volumes,  with  occasional  digressions  into 
Pleading  and  Practice,  and  the  law  of  Evidence.  Had 
it  been  possible,  I  would  in  a  few  months  have  had 
most  of  Judge  Jones's  library  in  my  room  at  home. 
As  that  could  not  be,  there  were  continually  arising  in 
my  mind  "points,"  upon  which  to  satisfy  myself  I  had, 
in  busy  loss  of  time,  to  make  visits  to  his  office,  and  to 
the  other  law  offices  of  the  town,  where  I  was  always 
welcomed,  and  often  led  into  arguments  in  which  I 
showed  more  zeal  than  knowledge  and  discretion. 

It  was  not  long  till  I  had  established  in  my  own 
mind  all  the  requisites  of  a  good  lawyer,  and  analyzed 
to  my  own  satisfaction  the  capacity  and  quality  of 
every  lawyer  who  practiced  at  that  bar.  I  had  my 
model  of  the  deep,  tricky  lawyer,  and  of  the  shallow, 
easy  lawyer ;  of  the  zealous  advocate  who  knew  little, 


112  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

and  of  the  quiet,  office  lawyer,  who  knew  more  than  he 
could  apply  well.  Then,  too,  there  was  the  case  law 
yer,  old  Colonel  Jenks,  who  had  started  out  with  the 
profound  impression  that  the  law  was  an  occult  science, 
the  reasons  of  which  no  man  knew  or  could  know,  and 
who  had  consequently  found  it  a  mystery  to  himself  to 
his  old  age.  If  he  could  find  a  case  just  like  his  own 
case,  it  was  well;  if  he  could  not,  he  was  at  sea  with 
out  a  compass.  He  had  a  peculiarity, — which,  how 
ever,  is  more  common  at  the  bar  than  is  generally 
thought, — when  he  got  a  case  he  put  it  hypothetically, 
with  other  names  and  dates,  to  every  lawyer  in  the 
town,  except  the  one  he  knew  or  thought  likely  was  to 
oppose  him,  for  his  opinion ;  and  would  argue  over  each 
point,  and  suggest  difficulties  to  have  them  overcome, 
just  as  though  he  were  a  teacher  of  profundities  and 
perversities,  or  a  quiz  of  legal  acumen.  Generally  his 
brethren  gratified  his  known  habit,  which  amused 
them,  though  it  was  sometimes  a  little  annoying, — but 
an  answer  he  once  got  from  Judge  Pinckard  rather 
puzzled  him.  The  judge  was  a  fat,  rosy-faced  old  fel 
low,  who  was  both  a  profound  lawyer  and  a  persistent 
humorist.  One  day  Colonel  Jenks  came  to  his  office, 
and  narrating  to  him  a  rigmarole  of  supposititious  facts, 
wound  up  by  asking  what  he  would  advise  a  man  to 
do  who  had  such  a  case.  "Eh?  colonel,"  said  the 
judge.  "What  would  I  advise?  I  would  advise — let 
me  sec — I  would  advise  him  to  go  to  a  lawyer.  Eh  ? 
colonel." 

I  analyzed  all  these  men  correctly,  but  my  subse 
quent  experience  showed  me  that  I  had  far  underrated 
the  power  of  Colonel  Jenks  with  a  jury,  and  cxagger- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  113 

ated  the  trickiness  of  Squire  Harkness,  who  never 
played  a  trick  for  the  love  of  the  trick,  and  was  often 
generous  when  it  would  pay.  A  lawyer  in  the  ab 
stract  and  a  lawyer  in  his  practice  are  as  different  as 
an  acrobat  going  about  the  streets  in  shabby  clothes 
and  with  stupid  face,  and  the  same  acrobat  upon  the 
stage  turning  summersets  and  tying  himself  into 
double  bow-knots,  so  that  you  hardly  know  which  end 
is  uppermost  and  how  to  take  him. 

It  was  clearly  perceptible  wherein  my  seniors  were 
defective,  and  I  should  therefore  have  set  about  making 
myself  perfect ;  but  I  have  remarked  that  the  men 
who  can  criticise  others  with  the  greatest  precision  are 
those  who  are  inclined  to  do  little  else  than  criticise. 
It  takes  an  idle  man  to  be  a  good  amateur  cicerone  to 
a  picture  gallery,  and  discover  to  you  the  minute 
faults  as  well  as  the  special  beauties  of  the  pictures. 
I  fear  that  though  I  at  all  times  kept  myself  busy 
doing  something  in  the  line  of  my  future  profession,  I 
was,  during  all  my  studenthood,  very  idle.  My  hardest 
work,  as  indeed  I  may  say  of  the  most  labored  works  of 
my  life,  was  for  naught  in  the  end.  A  trivial  lecture,  or 
literary  speech,  or  poem,  or  some  such  so-called  dis 
traction,  which  neither  profited  me  nor  the  world,  has 
often  employed  all  the  energies  of  my  mind  to  a  far 
more  intense  degree  than  the  law  of  Bailments,  or  the 
Statutes  of  Descent  and  Distribution. 

The  gentlemen  of  the  town,  young  and  old,  had  a 

Debating  and  Literary  Society,  which  I  joined  of  course, 

and  of  which  I  was  a  member  during  the  whole  of  its 

spasmodic   existence.     It   met    once   every   fortnight, 

10*  H 


114  LIFE  AND    OPINIONS   OF 

sometimes  at  the  court-house  and  sometimes  at  the 
school-house ;  and  if  the  weather  chanced  to  be  good 
there  was  generally  a  large  attendance,  of  young  ladies 
especially,  to  hear  the  debates  or  the  lectures  and 
essays.  Like  every  other  such  association,  it  had  its 
whales  and  its  minnows ;  its  rivals  in  volubility  and  its 
rivals  in  wisdom,  who  were  always  by  universal  con 
sent  pitted  againt  each  other.  If  Mr.  Davis  was  ap 
pointed  to  lead  in  the  affirmative,  Mr.  Smith  was  cer 
tain  to  be  the  leader  of  the  negative,  and  wherever 
little  Dossey  (he  was  known  as  "The  Count")  was 
placed,  long,  gangling  Joe  Jenks,  whose  jaws  seemed 
always  hungry  for  talk,  was  certain  to  be  found  as  his 
adversary. 

Once,  when  I  was  about  eighteen,  I  had  the  honor 
to  be  chosen  as  essayist,  and  I  chose  "Home"  as  my 
subject.  For  two  weeks  I  gave  it  all  my  thought,  and 
the  applause  I  received  from  my  mother  and  sisters, 
when  I  had  fully  completed  it,  was  very  flattering. 
My  mother  suggested  that  if  I  could  procure  a  small 
pocket  music-box  which  played  "Sweet  Home,"  and 
would  set  it  going  at  the  close  of  the  performance,  it 
would  have  an  electrical  effect.  And  indeed  I  think  it 
would  have  added  a  dramatic  interest  to  the  evening. 

It  was  my  coup  d'essai,  and  I  had  the  most  extrav 
agant  hopes  of  success.  Like  most  young  aspirants,  I 
thought  that  I  would  elevate  the  minds  of  my  hearers 
by  taking  a  high  moral  and  philosophical  view  of  my 
subject,  and  so  I  commenced  with  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
the  home  of  Eve;  then  pictured  man  in  his  fallen 
state,  with  his  home  left  him  as  his  only  refuge  from 
the  freezing  blasts  and  pitiless  peltings  of  misfortune, 


A  B  HA  If  AM  PAGE,  ESQ.  115 

and  so  forth — by  which  I  expected  to  draw  tears  from 
every  eye. 

It  is  certain  that  every  subject,  moral  and  physical, 
is  directly  connected  with  the  creation  and  the  fall  of 
man,  and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  it  is  the  best  point  of 
departure  in  treating  any  subject;  but  it  is  apt  to  grow 
tiresome  as  it  becomes  hackneyed ;  and  that  it  is  hack 
neyed,  the  first  efforts  of  most  men  of  inquiring  minds 
will  prove.  At  any  rate,  though  I  have  often  since 
been  tempted  to  date  from  those  events  I  have  re 
frained,  for  my  success  on  this  occasion  was  far  more 
heavy  than  it  would  have  been  had  I  chosen  a  less 
lofty  pinnacle  from  which  to  try  my  unaccustomed 
wings.  The  flying  was  nothing,  but  the  alighting  was 
the  trouble ;  and  though  there  was  a  buzz  of  half- 
approbation  when  I  had  finished,  it  sounded  to  my 
ears  very  like  a  pitying  murmur  of  "poor  fellow!" 
and  I  almost  had  to  feel  if  some  of  my  limbs  were  not 
broken.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Snow  was  president  for  the 
evening,  and  when  I  suggested  that  I  had  made  a  fail 
ure — with  the  hope  that  he  would  give  me  a  word  of 
consolation — he  only  said,  "No,  not  a  failure  !"  putting 
a  pitying  emphasis  on  the  word  "  failure"  which  cut 
me  to  the  quick.  I  cannot  by  words  describe  his  tone ; 
but  I  never  loved  him  afterward,  for  he  was  cruel. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  my  father  aban 
doned  nfe  to  my  law  studies  without  a  thought  of  my 
deficiencies  and  progress.  It  was  his  opinion,  and  he 
was  very  right  in  it,  that  I  was  hardly  proficient  enough 
in  mathematics  to  conduct  a  case  in  which  a  compli 
cated  patent  was  in  controversy,  or  one  in  which  it  was 
necessary  to  demonstrate  the  area  of  a  piece  of  land  by 


116  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

a  reference  to  field-notes;  and  he  therefore  arranged 
with  Mr.  Garden,  who  then  taught  school  iu  the  town, 
to  supervise  my  mathematical  studies  ;  for  which  pur 
pose  I  had  to  present  myself  at  the  school-house  for  a 
two-hours'  study  and  recitation  three  times  a  week.  I 
do  not  remember  much  of  the  mathematics,  but  I  recall 
very  clearly  that  I,  being  a  sort  of  lay  school-boy  of 
superior  prerogatives,  had  a  very  jolly  time  of  it  with 
the  regular  scholars,  all  of  whom  I  knew  well,  and 
several  of  whom  were  about  my  own  age.  During 
watermelon  time  I  kept  my  clique  —  for  there  are 
cliques  everywhere,  and  in  every  congregation  of  men 
and  other  animals — well  supplied  with  fine  melons  from 
my  father's  patch — the  dear  old  gentleman  himself  often 
picking  me  out  the  best.  One  day,  when  we  went  out 
for  recess,  we  discovered  a  large  black  sow  in  the  shed 
at  the  end  of  the  school-room,  making  sad  havoc  with 
my  melons,  which  were  deposited  there.  We  instantly 
attacked,  and  pursued  her  for  vengeance,  out  into  the 
street.  I  being  the  most  outraged  was  foremost  and 
most  forward,  when  my  career  was  arrested  by  the 
sharp  voices  of  the  Misses  Starbaugh  exclaiming  to 
gether,  "You,  Abraham  Page!"  and  Miss  Tabitha con 
tinued  :  "We  little  expected  to  see  the  son  of  Dr.  Page 
guilty  of  cruelty  to  an  animal  in  the  public  street." 

Now,  I  was  justly  angry  with  the  hog,  but  was  even 
more  justly  afraid  of  the  Misses  Starbaugh.  They  were 
two  old  maids  who  lived  in  a  frame  house  at  the  corner, 
and  were  noted  for  their  precise  good  manners,  and  their 
rigid  ideas  of  propriety.  Both,  clad  in  sober  gray  of 
demure  cut,  and  with  their  heads  surmounted  with 
maidenly  caps  of  snowy  whiteness,  stood  with  their 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  H7 

half-mittenecl  hands  resting  on  the  fence,  looking  at  me 
with  severe  eyes,  and  I  felt  as  guilty  as  though  I  had 
been  indeed  caught  at  some  crime. 

I  mention  this  incident  not  because  it  is  very  inter 
esting,  or  has  any  further  connection  with  my  story, 
but  because  it  is  actually  the  only  event  of  my  school 
life  at  Mr.  Garden's  which  even  approached  the  char 
acter  of  an  adventure.  In  retracing  the  road  I  have 
traveled,  I  find  many  a  quiet  glade  carpeted  with  grass 
and  flowers,  and  bright  with  sunshine,  in  which  scarcely 
a  solitary  shrub  arrests  the  view.  As  I  have  said  be 
fore,  my  life  has  not  been  one  of  astounding  adventures, 
and  in  writing  it  my  ambition  is  not  to  excite  admira 
tion  or  astonishment,  but  to  depict  it  so  faithfully  that 
other  ordinary  individuals  may  avoid  my  errors,  and 
may  see  that  their  sorrows  are  not  without  parallel. 

But  my  four  years  of  novitiate  were  not  passed  wholly 
in  the  study  of  law  and  mathematics,  or  the  cultivation 
of  a  style  of  writing  and  speaking.  I  did  many  a  day's 
work  in  garden  and  field,  and  had  many  a  job  of  copy 
ing  from  the  clerks  of  the  courts,  and  from  the  lawyers, 
pressed  for  time,  for  which  I  got  a  pay  even  more  lib 
eral  than  usual  for  such  services.  Then,  too,  there 
were  numerous  Spanish  grants  of  land  necessary  in 
evidence,  for  translating  which  I  was  paid  liberally,  as 
I  had  thereabouts  a  monopoly  of  understanding  that 
language.  By  these  means  —  and  every  dollar  was  a 
dollar — I  managed  to  be  of  little  expense  to  my  father 
for  my  board,  and  to  keep  myself  clothed  and  shod  as 
.became  a  young  man  engaged  in  one  of  the  liberal  pro 
fessions.  I  would  have  felt  it  a  shame  for  me  to  be  a 
burden  upon  my  father,  when  1  should  be  an  assist- 


118  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

ancc;  and,  although  I  never  had  an  inclination  to  be 
foppish,  I  would  have  been  very  loth  to  dress  below  my 
condition,  which  was  that  of  a  gentleman  who  might 
reasonably  aspire  to  sit  on  the  Supreme  Bench,  hold  a 
listening  Senate  in  admiration,  or,  as  President,  receive 
foreign  Ambassadors. 

Another  strong  reason  for  my  dressing  well  was  that 
my  two  sisters  were  now  young  ladies,  and  I  had  to 
be  their  escort  to  the  parties  and  pastimes  to  which 
they  were  invited.  They  were  charming  girls,  even  to 
me,  their  brother.  While  they  took  their  black  eyes, 
and  graceful  forms,  their  elegant  tastes,  and  pleasant 
sprightliness  of  wit,  from  our  mother,  they  inherited  the 
good  health  and  strong  common  sense  of  our  father. 
Although  it  is  not  my  intention  to  dilate  in  this  history 
of  my  own  life  upon  their  dispositions  and  lives,  or 
upon  those  of  my  brothers,  except  in  so  far  as  they  im 
mediately  affected  my  own,  I  must  say  here  that  in  a 
sad  time  they  made  life  desirable  to  me,  and  at  all  times 
made  nature  beautiful  to  me  while  they  lived,  as  by 
their  deaths  they  deprived  death  of  most  of  its  terrors  to 
me,  and  added  new  beauty  to  the  heaven  of  my  desires, 
where  I  shall  see  them  little  changed  from  what  they 
were  on  earth,  and  shall  be  freed  from  any  fear  that 
they  shall  part  again  from  their  old  brother. 

"Thus  saith  the  Lord;"  says  Jeremiah,  "A  voice 
was  heard  in  Ramah,  lamentation  and  bitter  weeping ; 
Rachel  weeping  for  her  children  refused  to  be  com 
forted  for  her  children,  because  they  were  not.  Thus 
saith  the  Lord,  refrain  thy  voice  from  weeping,  and 
thine  eyes  from  tears :  for  thy  work  shall  be  rewarded, 
saith  the  Lord;  and  they  shall  come  again  from  the 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  HO 

land  of  the  enemy.  And  there  is  hope  in  thine  end, 
saith  the  Lord,  that  thy  children  shall  come  again  to 
their  own  border." 

This  is  a  very  precious  promise  to  us  all ;  to  brothers 
and  sisters,  husbands  and  wives,  and  friends,  as  well 
as  to  parents;  for  it  was  not  merely  a  prophecy  of  the 
restoration  of  the  Jews  to  theirown  land,  since  Matthew 
quotes  it  as  applicable  to  the  parents  bereaved  by 
Herod. 

My  sisters  were  lovely  girls  in  every  respect,  and 
their  presence  was  eagerly  sought  for  all  the  evening 
parties  and  parties  of  pleasure  in  our  town  and  neigh 
borhood  ;  just  as  their  girl  companions  sent  for  them  as 
the  most  gentle  and  sympathizing  of  friends  in  sickness 
and  sorrow.  As  they  were  absolutely  destitute  of  as 
sumption  in  their  manners  and  thoughts,  their  friends 
were  of  all  degrees ;  and  the  rich  ones  were  taught  les 
sons  of  dignity,  while  the  poor  learned  content  and  in 
dustry,  and  all  saw  charity  exemplified  by  them  in 
thought,  word,  and  deed. 

To  go  to  evening  parties  was  not  one  of  my  favorite 
pastimes,  and  gave  me  but  little  pleasure  even  at  this 
age,  when  such  pleasures  are  so  becoming  to  a  young 
man.  My  vanity  and  love  of  approbation  made  me 
very  sensitive,  and  I  was  afflicted  with  a  painful  shame- 
facedness  which  made  me  feel  awkward  in  my  beha 
vior,  and  frequently  even  savage  in  my  mirth.  Often 
have  I  for  many  minutes  stood  nervously,  with  cold 
hands  and  trembling  limbs,  outside  of  the  door,  waiting 
for  others  to  come  along  with  whom  I  might  enter, 
rather  than  risk  the  embarrassment  of  entering  alone 
among  the  company.  To  this  day,  old  as  I  am,  I  ac- 


120  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

knowledge  a  disagreeable  sensation  even  in  walking 
alone  up  the  aisle  of  a  church,  and  to  bid  the  good  even 
ing  to  a  party  of  friends  without  desperately  shaking 
hands  all  around  is  beyond  my  ability.  But  to  ac 
company  my  sisters  was  a  duty,  and  it  was  often  re 
warded  by  unexpected  pleasures,  and  what  I  feared 
would  be  dull  or  noisy  proved  agreeable  and  quiet,  and 
a  cosy  chat  in  some  corner  with  a  fair  companion  be 
fore  whom  I  was  at  no  restraint  or  loss  for  the  disposal 
of  my  unwieldy  arms  and  protrusive  knees,  allowed 
me  to  go  home  reconciled  to  the  high  behest  of  society 
in  the  matter  of  the  assemblies  of  young  folk  for  pleasure. 
In  those  days  hospitality  seemed  to  be  a  passion ; 
and  though  it  was,  in  some  respects,  a  mistaken  hos 
pitality,  and  often  one  which  contributed  little  to  good 
habits,  it  was  always  hearty  and  sincere.  Among  the 
men,  the  first  ceremony  upon  a  visit  or  an  introduction, 
was  to  go  to  the  sideboard,  or  the  grocery,  for  a  drink; 
and  at  parties,  for  all  to  dance  reels  and  cotilions  until 
daybreak,  was  the  rule.  He  was  the  best  dancer  who 
could  jump  the  highest,  and  cross  his  feet  the  oftenest 
while  in  the  air,  and  she  excelled  who  could  cut  the 
most  genteel  die-away  pigeon-wing — and  a  side-ways 
pigeon-wing  cut  with  a  languishing  air  by  a  pretty  girl, 
without  hoops,  is  as  pleasant  a  little  piece  of  coquetry 
as  I  ever  saw.  It  was  by  no  means  genteel,  however, 
to  be  at  all  rude ;  and  out  of  the  nursery,  the  games  of 
forfeits,  and  other  plays  in  which  there  was  promiscuous 
kissing,  were  discountenanced.  In  fact,  it  was  rather 
a  dangerous  business  to  be  too  loving  where  one  had 
no  right  to  be  so,  and  a  stolen  kiss  was  sometimes  re 
sented,  as  it  should  be  in  every  well-regulated  society, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  121 

by  a  challenge  or  a  pistol-ball  the  next  day.  Female 
honor  was  regarded  as  the  most  sacred  of  all  things, 
and  manly  honor  was  never  so  noble  as  when  protect 
ing  or  avenging  it. 

Everybody  gave  parties;  and  the  enjoyment  at  one 
depended,  for  me,  greatly  upon  who  gave  it,  as  well 
as  upon  who  I  met  there.  Some  hosts  of  very  small 
means  and  contracted  accommodations,  had  the  tact  to 
place  company  at  their  perfect  ease,  and  make  them 
abandon  themselves  to  the  pleasures  of  the  evening, 
while,  with  others,  who  had  large  houses,  and  every 
thing  in  plenty  at  their  command,  the  time  would  lan 
guish  until  all  were  glad  to  get  away  at  an  early  hour. 
These  last  were  generally  very  religious  people,  who 
shunned  dancing,  and  tried  to  give  a  religious  cast  to 
mirth.  There  may  be,  and  is,  such  a  thing  as  pious 
mirth,  where  the  soul  is  filled  with  thankfulness ;  but 
mirth  and  religiousness  are  incongruous.  I  have  actu 
ally  known  the  "  exercises"  of  the  evening  to  be  closed 
with  prayer.  Oh,  there  has  been  a  heap  of  solemn, 
earnest  humbug  in  this  world — however  it  may  be 
now. 

Twice  in  every  year,  from  the  time  Miss  Jane  Carter 
was  sixteen  until  it  seemed  almost  useless,  her  father, 
the  old  'Squire,  gave  a  party.  He  was  actuated  to  it 
by  the  best  motives :  first,  it  was  the  fashion  ;  secondly, 
he  was  intensely  hospitable;  and,  thirdly,  old  Mrs. 
Carter  and  Miss  Jane  thought  it  hard,  and  he  thought 
it  wrong,  that  some  return  should  not  be  made  for  the 
many  parties  to  which  Miss  Jane  was  invited — if  the 
two  ladies  had  other  reasons  based  on  hope,  they  kept 
them  to  themselves.  But  the  old  Squire  was  as  poor 
11 


122  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

as  a  respectable  man  well  could  be.  He  was  a  justice 
of  the  peace,  and  as  lazy  and  inefficient  in  his  own 
matters  as  country  justices  of  the  peace  usually  were. 
In  those  days,  when  a  respectable  man  was  very  poor, 
very  inefficient,  and  very  good  natured,  his  natural 
berth  seemed  to  be  that  of  justice  of  the  peace.  There 
was  responsibility  enough  in  the  office  for  respectability, 
but  not  enough  money  to  induce  men  of  active  parts  to 
take  it,  and  it  was  too  important  to  be  given  to  dis 
honest  or  mean  men.  I  used  to  attend  Squire  Carter's 
court  as  a  looker-on  in  the  occasional  criminal  examina 
tions  which  came  before  him,  as  well  as  at  the  regular 
civil  terms  he  held,  and  his  careful  helplessness,  as  he 
sat  with  spectacles  upon  his  nose,  now  taking  a  note  of 
evidence,  now  referring  to  a  statute  which  was  hard  to 
find,  and  now,  with  many  a  hem  and  haw,  asking  a 
witness  some  question  of  pitiable  irrelevancy,  used  to 
enrage  me ;  while  the  weak  but  important  tone  with 
which  he  dawdled  over  foreign  "ifs"  and  "buts"  before 
he  rendered  his  decision,  and  the  nervous,  pleading 
smile  with  which  he  glanced  around  to  see  how  his 
decision  was  taken,  completely  extinguished  any  dis 
position  I  might  feel  for  laughter.  But  the  old  Squire 
was  a  good  man,  who  loved  his  fellow-men,  and  his 
dogs,  and  his  old  horse,  Blaze ;  had  an  intense  respect 
for  his  wife,  and  fairly  worshiped  his  daughter. 

To  see  him  perform  a  marriage  ceremony  was  worth 
the  while  of  any  student  of  character.  Just  before  the 
hour  arrived,  he  could  be  seen  with  a  copy  of  the 
statutes  under  his  arm,  walking  with  dignified  bi'isk- 
ness  up  to  the  front  door  of  the  house,  his  shirt  collar 
showing  a  redundancy  of  snowy  well-starched  linen, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  123 

his  old  black  coat  and  pants  well  brushed,  and  his 
shoes  well  blacked  with  soot,  and  tied  with  buckskin 
strings.  After  gravely  saluting  the  company  on  the 
porch  or  gallery,  and  depositing  his  book  and  hat,  he 
would  manage  in  whispers,  and  with  much  pointing,  to 
learn  from  his  host  the  exact  door  at  which  the  couple 
would  enter,  and  where  they  would  stand,  and  he 
should  stand,  and  how  many  bridesmaids  there  were, 
and  with  the  information  he  would  retire  Avithin  him 
self  without  a  word  for  any  one,  and  only  acknowledg 
ing,  with  a  most  courtly  bow,  the  salutations  of  the 
comers ;  a  nervous  twitch  of  the  upper  lip,  and  a  rest 
lessness  of  his  hands,  increasing  as  the  time  drew 
nearer,  alone  showing  that  his  mind  was  on  sublunary 
affairs.  When,  in  response  to  the  whispered  summons 
of  the  host,  he  entered  the  room,  book  in  hand,  happy 
if  he  stumbled  over  no  chair,  or  tread  upon  no  intrusive 
dog,  he  took  his  stand  as  though  the  elements  could  not 
make  him  move,  and  the  awfulness  and  tenderness  of 
the  occasion  strove  for  mastery  in  the  expression  of  his 
good-natured  countenance.  As  a  magistrate,  he  was 
important;  as  a  father,  he  was  gentle  and  paternal; 
and  as  a  husband  who  knew  what  was  what,  he  seemed 
to  be  a  little  jolly,  and  very  respectful.  He  appeared 
to  wish  it  particularly  understood  that  it  was  a  State, 
and  not  a  religious  or  personal  affair  with  him,  and  he 
always  ended  by  saying:  "In  the  name  of  God,  and 

by  the  authority  of  the  State  of ,  I  declare  you 

man  and  wife."  And,  when  the  cast  of  his  office  was 
over,  he  blushed  like  any  school-boy  if  the  bride  offered 
to  kiss  him,  and  retired  to  a  corner,  looking  on  till  the 
feast  was  ready,  when  he  tucked  in  a  fair  supply  of 


124  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

good  things,  and  made  his  way  home,  fingering  his  fee 
of  a  silver  dollar,  or  whatever  more  the  generosity  and 
means  of  the  bridegroom  may  have  bestowed ;  and 
Mrs.  Carter  had,  no  doubt,  a  faithful  account  of  all  that 
was  said  and  done — if,  indeed,  Mrs.  Carter  and  Miss 
Jane  had  not  been  there,  and,  all  be-shawled  and  be- 
tucked  up,  had  not  accompanied  him  home. 

Squire  Carter's  parties  were  as  delightful  to  his 
guests  as  the  preparations  for  them  were  harassing 
to  his  wife  and  daughter.  He,  good  man,  felt  all  the 
delight  of  preparation,  was  great  at  makeshifts,  and 
was  insensible  to  inconveniences  for  himself.  He 
eould  never  understand  what  in  the  plague  (that  was 
his  nearest  approach  to  blasphemy)  Mrs.  Carter  and 
Jane  made  such  a  fuss  about.  "The  room  is  clean 
enough  to  dance  in  without  all  that  scrubbing,  and  if 
the  table  is  not  long  enough  there  are  plenty  of  plank 
in  the  back  yard.  And  chairs !  What  do  you  want 
with  more  chairs?  The  people  are  coming  here  to 
dance,  not  to  sit  down  and  twirl  their  thumbs;  a  good 
long  plunk  and  three  chairs  will  make  a  bench  the 
whole  length  of  the  room,  and  if  it  is  too  rough  for 
the  ladies'  dresses,  cover  it  with  a  couple  of  sheets!" 
When  he  saw  the  piles  of  odd  cups  and  saucers,  plates, 
knives  and  forks,  and  tumblers,  Mrs.  Carter  had  bor 
rowed  from  all  the  neighbors  around,  he  would  tell  her 
that  her  crockery  lasted  very  well,  and  he  thought 
from  the  looks  of  the  table  every  day  she  must  have  it 
put  away  very  carefully — for  the  Squire  delighted  in  a 
mild  joke. 

If,  when  night  caine,  his  makeshift  sconces  against 
the  wall  broke  down,  he  seemed  unconscious  of  the 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  125 

mortification  of  his  poor  wearied  wife,  and  was  ready 
to  make  sticks  of  empty  bottles  for  flaring,  guttering 
tallow  candles — people  did  not  have  to  see  their  legs 
to  dance,  he  would  say  jocularly.  If  a  sponge-cake 
cut  heavy,  or  the  white  sugar  gave  out,  or  the  syllabub 
tasted  salty,  or  the  coffee-pot  leaked  over  a  lady's 
dress,  or  the  brindled  dog  got  to  howling  outside  of 
the  window,  or  the  lemonade  was  diluted  particularly 
weak  to  make  it  last,  or  the  patch  he  had  put  in  the 
floor  in  front  of  the  hearth  got  displaced,  he  appeared 
entirely  unaware  of  the  agony  of  Mrs.  Carter,  and  the 
misery  of  Miss  Jane ;  saw  neither  their  paleness  nor 
flushes,  their  bitten  lips  nor  their  sickened  smiles,  as 
they  tried  to  pass  over  the  disaster;  and  in  all  the  ap 
parent  stupid  innocence  of  his  head  and  heart  would 
press  a  little  more  of  the  cake  or  syllabub  or  lemonade 
upon  his  guests;  while  the  howling  of  Beauty  he 
said  was  evidence  that  she  was  interested  in  the  fun. 

Oh,  yes !  The  Squire  would  have  a  party  every 
night  if  he  could,  and  his  dear  Jane  should  dance  and 
enjoy  herself,  with  the  best  of  them,  to  her  heart's  con 
tent,  until  after  awhile  she  got  a  husband,  and  then 
she  would  give  parties  at  her  house. 

Bah  !  The  old  gentleman  noted  every  incident  as 
keenly  as  did  his  wife ;  his  misery  far  exceeded  hers ; 
and  though  his  good  nature  was  too  kindly  to  show 
it,  his  heart  sank  within  him  when  he  helplessly  rumi 
nated  over  the  cost  in  money,  trouble,  and  mortifica 
tion,  which  a  little  firmness  and  exercise  of  common 
sense  in  the  veto  power  might  have  prevented.  But 
his  guests  were  gratified — that  was  the  great  thing 
after  all.  They  knew  what  they  were  to  expect  before 
11* 


126  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

they  came.  He  entreated  them  to  use  no  ceremony, 
but  make  themselves  at  home,  and  they  did  so.  It 
was  his  trouble,  and  that  of  his  wife  and  daughter, 
but  it  was  their  party,  and  they  could  not  help  liking 
their  hosts,  if  they  did  pity  the  effort  which  had  been 
made  to  do  things  up  in  fine  style.  The  Squire's  par 
ties  were  vastly  more  popular  than  those  of  Judge 
Yance,  where  the  cakes  and  creams,  and  syllabubs  and 
ices  were  expensive  and  perfect,  and  a  devout  blessing 
dismissed  the  guests  —  but  they  cost  a  great  deal 
more. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  world  more  pitiable  than  the 
efforts  of  good  people  to  keep  up  appearances,  and 
nothing  more  extravagant  than  a  poor  man's  emula 
tion  of  the  rich. 

Perhaps  it  is  because  at  this  period  of  my  life  I  was 
put  to  great  perplexities  and  contrivances  to  keep  up 
my  own  appearance  and  ruffle  it  with  the  best,  that 
these  ideas  have  so  impressed  themselves  upon  my 
mind.  One  pair  of  boots  I  got  from  Haick,  the  shoe 
maker,  gave  me  almost  as  much  uneasiness  as  if  they 
had  been  the  boots  of  torture,  and  Haick  had  been  the 
executioner,  mallet  and  wedges  in  hand.  For  three 
months  did  their  price  rest  upon  my  spirits  as  though 
each  of  the  eight  dollars  had  weighed  a  ton,  and  I  had 
to  pay  for  them  at  last  by  the  dollar  at  a  time,  on  ac 
count,  as  I  could  get  and  spare  it.  The  party  for  which 
I  got  those  boots  cost  me  a  great  deal. 

What  with  parties  and  barbacues,  and  the  camp- 
meeting,  which  was  still  kept  up  as  when  Mr.  Thomas 
immortalized  himself,  and  the  Debating  Club,  and  oc 
casional  political  assemblages,  and  the  courts,  which  I 


I 

ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  12 T 

diligently  attended  and  puzzled  over,  for  my  public 
amusements,  and  law,  natural  philosophy,  mathemat 
ics,  copying  court  papers,  collecting  notes  and  ac 
counts  by  hand — as  it  was  called  to  distinguish  it 
from  their  collection  by  the  machinery  of  the  law — an 
occasional  dip  into  the  science  of  engineering,  gratify 
ing  an  insatiable  curiosity  by  studying  Lord  Bacon, 
and  Locke,  and  an  old  Latin  book  in  my  father's 
library  entitled  Johannes  de  Vacuo,  a  few  attempts  at 
poetry,  and  two  or  three  desperate  attacks  of  love,  for 
my  labors,  my  time  sped  on  apace,  and  I  found  myself 
twenty-one,  was  examined,  and  received  my  license  to 
practice  law. 


CHAPTER    X. 

IT  is  strange  in  how  little  space  the  labors,  pleasures, 
and  troubles  of  four  years  of  life  may  be  narrated. 
The  lives  of  men  so  nearly  resemble  each  other  in  their 
main  features,  that  the  fact  of  any  incident  being  stated 
it  is  rarely  considered  necessary  to  amplify  the  particu 
lars  ;  and  yet  it  is  in  the  variation  of  those  particulars 
that  a  man's  immortal  soul  is  affected  for  good  or  ill ; 
and,  in  truth,  it  is  only  this  effect  upon  the  soul  that 
makes  one's  life  of  more  importance  than  that  of  a 
coral  insect,  the  catching  by  which  of  a  larger  or 
smaller  animalcule  than  usual  is  a  momentous  event 
in  life. 

We  say  that  John  was  born,  had  a  vigorous  consti 
tution,  received  a  good  education,  became  a  lawyer, 


128  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

fell  in  love  with  four  different  girls,  the  last  of  whom 
married  him,  and  bore  him  five  children;  that  he  be 
came  a  Judge  of  the  Probaxte  Court,  and  held  that 
office  till  he  died,  at  the  age  of  forty-five ;  and  we  have 
an  outline  of  John's  life,  which  anyone  can  fill  up  with 
more  or  less  correctness  by  the  exercise  of  a  fancy  ed 
ucated  by  experience  and  observation.  But  how  little 
does  one  know  of  the  real  internal  life  of  John,  which 
may  have  been  blasted  by  a  struggle  for  office,  or  made 
vigorous  and  beautified  by  a  happy  marriage  !  In  the 
last  paragraph  of  the  preceding  chapter  I  have  given 
the  events  and  occupations  of  my  life  for  four  years, 
and  from  them  it  may  be  gathered  that  I  was  a  brisk 
young  fellow,  with  a  restless  mind,  and  considerable 
capacity  for  enjo}'ment ;  but  that  is  all.  You  cannot 
tell  if  I  was  an  amiable  companion,  how  far  my  hon 
esty  could  be  trusted,  or  whether  I  had  my  passions 
and  appetites  sufficiently  under  control  to  be  worthy  of 
being  called  virtuous;  for  I  take  it  that  the  greater  part 
of  man's  moral  nature  is  included  in  these  three  points. 
It  would  ill  become  me  to  praise  myself,  though, 
for  what  existed  so  long  ago,  even  if  I  could  honestly 
do  so ;  and  I  could  not,  for  shame,  admit  that  I  was 
obnoxious  to  censure  in  these  particulars.  No  man 
who  knows  himself,  and  has  any  self-respect,  can  make 
a  perfectly  candid  confession  of  his  thoughts,  desires, 
and  actions.  There  must  alwa}^s  be  some  reserve,  and 
it  is  well  if  he  try  to  conceal  nothing  even  from  his 
God.  These  candid  confessions  of  sins  or  peccadilloes 
made  by  some  people,  are  a  sentimental  humbug,  and 
amount  in  effect  only  to  acknowledging  that  they  are 
men  and  women.  Even  though  you  were  to  confess 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  129 

that  appetite  had  more  to  do  with  your  love  for  Miss 
Betty  than  calm  reason,  no  opinion  could  be  formed  to 
your  prejudice  or  in  your  favor ;  for,  besides  that  you 
would,  perhaps,  at  the  time  have  been  horror-struck  at 
such  a  suggestion,  it  may  be  that  she  was  as  tempting 
a  bit  of  Eve's  flesh,  and  as  insipid  a  little  soul  as  you 
ever  saw,  and  it  was  the  most  natural  of  all  things  that 
you  should  have  longed  for  her,  and  not  really  have 
loved  her.  And  Tom,  who  afterward  married  her  with 
doubtless  the  same  kind  of  love  you  had,  would,  per 
haps,  have  cut  any  one's  throat  who  had  presumed  to 
lay  the  exact  quality  of  his  love  before  him.  Possibly 
the  poor  fellow  died  before  he  found  it  out  himself. 

Do  you  not  perceive,  then,  that  these  confessions 
are  nonsense  ? — or,  worse  than  that,  are  confessing  a 
little  in  order  to  hide  a  great  deal  ?  God  alone  knows 
the  heart,  and,  consequently,  can  alone  know  wherein 
a  man  has  sinned,  can  alone  absolve  him  from  his  sin, 
and  can  alone  help  him  to  sin  no  more ;  and  I  think 
that  the  less  a  man  has  to  say  to  his  fellow-man  in  the 
way  of  confession  of  sins,  the  better  for  both  parties. 
I'll  warrant,  too,  from  my  own  experience,  as  well  as 
observation,  that  in  nearly  all  such  confessions  more 
stress  is  laid  upon  the  efforts  of  the  soul  to  resist  and 
overcome  the  sin,  than  upon  the  sin  itself — so  that  the 
penitent  has  vastly  the  appearance  of  an  angel  who 
has  been  surprised  or  conquered  by  a  whole  host  of 
irresistible  devils. 

The  fact  is,  that  in  these  four  years  of  my  life,  little, 
almost  unnoticed,  incidents  occurred  which  shaped  my 
destiny,  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  place  them  before 
a  reader  either  in  proper  order,  or  in  such  a  manner  as 

i 


130  LIFE  AND    OPINIONS  OF 

to  make  them  entertaining.  The  little  pebble  which 
first  deflects  the  current  of  a  river  at  its  source  is  but 
an  insignificant  object,  though  it  has  rendered  a  mighty 
stream  tortuous  throughout  its  length.  I  can  only  pre 
sent  my  life  as  it  is,  with  all  its  sinuosities  and  eddies, 
without  pretending  to  discover  the  moving  causes  for 
either. 

If  the  Rev.  Theobald  Snow  and  his  wife  were  alive, 
and  had  the  writing  of  my  history,  I  doubt  not  but  that 
I  should  be  dissected  up  to  seventeenthly,  with  most 
orthodox  energy  and  acumen.  Although  the  parson 
and  I  preserved  a  sort  of  armed  truce,  Mrs.  Snow  was 
not  quite  so  placable. 

She  had  come  of  such  a  long  line  of  Puritanic 
preachers,  that  it  was  almost  a  pity  there  were  ever 
any  girls  born  to  the  family ;  at  least,  I  suspect  that 
the  Rev.  Theobald  sometimes  thought  so.  As  she 
could  not  be  a  preacher  herself,  she  came  as  near  it  as 
she  could,  and  took  it  as  her  mission  to  regulate  a 
preacher,  which  she  did,  zealously.  He  was  an  amia 
ble,  well-meaning  man,  and,  I  doubt  not,  was  a  sincere 
Christian,  but  his  intellect  was  rather  ordinary  and 
slow  in  its  motions,  and  the  energetic  limb  of  the  hier 
archy  he  had  made  part  of  himself  was  continually  run 
ning  away  with  him,  or  getting  him  into  all  sorts  of 
disagreeable  muddles.  To  change  the  figure,  his  yoke 
fellow  was  too  lively  for  him,  and  was  always  running 
ahead  and  turning  him  from  the  smooth  road  he  wished 
to  travel ;  and  not  content  with  carrying  him  forward, 
she  tried  to  press  and  drag  the  whole  team  ancj  load, 
and,  of  course,  he  got  the  blame,  which  was  unjust. 

It  is  a  mere  conventional  joke  to  say  that  a  man  is 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  131 

really  accountable  for  what  his  wife  does  jjespccially  if 
she  be  a  Mrs.  Snow.  It  was  but  a  small  matter  with 
her  to  lecture  an  elder,  or  an  old  deacon,  and  as  for  his 
wife  and  family,  she  could  spiritually  spank  them  with, 
an  earnestness  and  authority  too  astonishing  to  be  re 
sisted  while  the  operation  was  going  on.  She  de 
manded  implicit  submission.  The  spirit  of  command 
had  been  concentrated  in  her  by  nature  and  education. 
The  ceremony  of  ordination  was  the  first  lesson  her 
lisping  tongue  could  pronounce  by  rote,  and  the  com 
munion  cups  were  her  childish  play-things.  Such  fa 
miliarity  with  church  arrangements,  and  church  phrase 
ology,  and  church  pains  and  penalties,  and  chui'ch 
gossip,  and  church  enterprises,  was  never,  in  our  part 
of  the  country,  dreamed  of  in  a  woman  before ;  and  the 
pertness  with  which  her  answers  came  to  any  ques 
tioning  of  church  dogmas  could  only  have  been  in 
herited  from  high  officers  in  the  church  militant. 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  such  a  Deinologian  in 
petticoats  should  be  either  a  neat  or  careful  house 
keeper  ;  though  her  zeal  in  bearing  little  Snowbirds  to 
be  provided  for  was  quite  as  wonderful  to  every  one  as 
it  was  astounding  to  the  poor  parson,  whose  salary  could 
ill  afford  the  increased  outlay.  But,  bless  you,  thought 
Mrs.  Snow,  it  costs  nothing  for  doctor  or  nurses,  and 
even  the  sparrows  are  provided  for.  The  fact  was, 
Mrs.  Snow,  as  the  daughter  of  a  preacher  so  zealous 
that  he  swapped,  or  was  called  from  pulpit  to  pulpit, 
from  Maine  to  Georgia,  had  been  accustomed,  like  a 
good  traveler,  to  live  from  hand  to  mouth  all  her  life; 
and  though  she  could  relish  the  creams,  and  cram  in 
the  cakes  and  the  turkey  and  other  good  things  with 


132  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

an  infinite  gusto,  it  had  always  been  at  the  tables  and 
expense  of  others,  who  would  kill  their  last  hen,  and 
break  up  its  nest,  if  the  eggs  were  not  too  far  gone,  to 
provide  delicacies  for  the  palates  of  a  preacher  and  his 
family  who  canie  upon  a  visit,  or  as  a  visitation.  She 
therefore  had  no  idea  of  going  to  the  expense  of  such 
niceties  herself,  and  if  her  husband  or  children  wished 
them,  all  they  had  to  do  was  to  go  somewhere  and 
spend  the  evening,  or  send  word  they  were  coming  to 
dinner.  She  could  do  so,  and  she  did.  Consequently, 
the  poor  parson  was  but  a  sorry  host,  and  with  the 
bedclothes  topsy-turvy  till  night,  and  the  chairs  filled 
with  clothes  and  bandboxes,  and  the  floor  littered  with 
soiled  clothes  and  old  shoes,  and  his  shaving-brush  and 
razors  not  to  be  found,  and  the  wash-basin  straying  off 
into  the  back  yard,  and  the  towels  all  wet  or  soiled, 
and  his  books  and  papers  piled  pell-mell  with  baby 
linen  and  old  petticoats  in  the  corners,  the  misguided 
man  was  often  as  puzzled  to  know  which  end  was  up 
permost,  as  were  his  little  brats  when  they  were  jerked 
up  to  be  spanked,  either  by  hand  or  with  their  mamma's 
slipper,  which,  as  she  went  slip-shod,  came  off  in  a 
twinkling. 

Mrs.  Snow  was  a  nervous  woman.  I  do  not  mean 
that  she  was  puny  or  had  weak  nerves ;  on  the  con 
trary,  her  nerves  were  very  strong,  and  she  had  an 
extra  number  of  them,  to  judge  by  her  motions.  She 
was  lean,  but  not  at  all  emaciated,  and  in  her  spanking 
showed  plenty  of  bone  and  muscle.  Her  nose  was  long 
and  sharp — indeed,  it  was  notably  prominent,  and  often 
was  red  and  swollen  at  the  tip — and  her  eyes  were 
gray  and  keen.  Behold  her,  with  her  bonnet  on  awry, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  133 

and  her  mantle  streaming  behind,  exposing,  when  a 
sudden  gust  would  take  it,  two  or  three  hooks  of  the 
back  of  her  dress  unfastened  sailing  out  on  one  of  her 
corrective  expeditions.  Holding  her  antepenultimate 
hope  by  the  hand,  and  vigorously  calling  in  or  hieing 
away  a  couple  of  brace  of  the  others,  or  sometimes 
stopping  to  blow  a  little  in  the  friendly  shade  of  a  tree, 
and  perform  the  operation  of  tying  the  little  one's  shoes, 
and  wiping  all  their  noses,  she  makes  her  way — say, 
to  our  house.  Scarcely  pausing  to  make  the  compli 
ments  of  the  day,  after  she  has  had  a  snack  provided 
for  her  "poor  fatigued  children,"  she  opens  with  a  vim 
upon  my  mother : 

"Mrs.  Page,  don't  you  think  we  are  very  slack  in 
the  Lord's  work  ?  We  must  have  a  sewing  society. 
Here  are  you  and  your  two  daughters,  Mrs.  Jones  and 
her  two,  Mrs.  Carter  and  Jane,  and  sixteen  other  ladies 
of  Mr.  Snow's  congregation,  who  are  actually  doing 
nothing  for  the  church  abroad.  We  are  told  to  go  into 
all  lands  and  preach  the  gospel ;  and  how  shall  preach 
ing  be  done  without  a  preacher?  and  how  shall  they 
preach  unless  they  be  sent  ?  and  how  can  they  preach 
with  any  hope  of  being  attended  to  by  a  set  of  naked 
heathen  ?  We  are  told  to  clothe  the  naked ;  but  here 
we  are  spending  all  our  time  and  money  in  clothing 
ourselves  with  finery " 

"But,  Mrs.  Snow " 

"Don't  interrupt  me,  Mrs.  Page,  if  you  please,  until 
I  tell  you  what  I  came  for.  We  must  have  a  sewing 
society  as  an  adjunct  to  our  branch  of  the  Tract,  and 
Foreign  Missions.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Dill,  who  used  to  live 
here,  1  believe,  writes  that  there  are  hundreds  at  his 
12 


134  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

mission  who  would  attend  his  ministrations  if  they  had 
decent  clothing  to  appear  in.  The  North  is  sending 
forth  her  strength,  and  it  is  a  shame  that  we,  in  this 
favored  part  of  the  vineyard,  should  fold  our  hands  in 
spiritual  sleep." 

"But,  Mrs.  Snow,"  said  my  mother,  "I  am  sure  we 
are  all  willing  to  assist  in  any  good  work.  Only  a  day 
or  two  ago,  Mrs.  Vance  and  I  were  planning  an  as 
sociation  for  the  relief  of  the  destitute  families  in  the 
county,  and  we  agreed  that  the  best  mode  of  action 
was  to  procure  sewing  for  the  women  and  girls.  There 
is  a  great  deal  of  plantation  clothing  to  be  made  up, 
and  if  we  could  get  it  for  them  to  do,  it  would  assist 
them  to  make  a  living;  besides " 

"Of  course,  Mrs.  Page,"  retorts  Mrs.  Snow,  with  a 
smile  of  pitying  dissent,  "  we  cannot  expect  Mrs. 
Yance  to  take  part  in  our  work,  as  she  belongs  to  a 
different  denomination." 

"Why,  madam,"  interrupts  my  mother,  "we  were 
not  thinking  of  denominations  at  all.  It  was " 

"It  was  taking  you  from  your  duty  to  your  own 
church,"  says  Mrs.  Snow,  emphatically.  "The  poor 
people  about  here  have  the  gospel  preached  unto  them 
when  they  choose  to  come  and  hear  Mr.  Snow,  which 
they  don't  often  do;  and  it  will  be  their  own  fault  if 
they  remain  in  heathen  darkness.  But  we  owe  a  duty 
to  the  propagation  of  gospel  light  in  lands  in  which 
there  is  no  light,  and  we  can  perform  it  no  better  than 
by  making  use  of  our  moments  of  leisure  to  meet  to 
gether  and  sew  for  them." 

"The  Doctor,"  hazards  my  mother,  "says  that  such 
meetings  arc  rather  for  the  purpose  of  comparing  un 
charitable  ideas,  than " 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  135 

"Allow  me  to  say,  madam,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Snow, 
with  rigid  dignity,  "with  all  due  respect  to  the  Doctor, 
that  he  is  not  a  good  judge  of  the  case.  At  any  rate, 
the  plan  has  been  settled,  and  Mr.  Snow  will  announce 
from  the  pulpit,  next  Sunday,  a  call  for  a  meeting  for 
organization  at  my  house  on  Thursday.  Mrs.  Mcln- 
tyre  will  be  vice-president,  and  Mrs  Holywell,  secre 
tary.  The  ladies  will  have  to  choose  their  president, 
and  should  choose  a  lady  of  energy,  who  has  her  heart 
in  the  work.  Of  course,  in  so  important  a  matter,  I 
did  not  like  to  put  any  one's  name  down  for  the  posi 
tion.  Mrs.  Mclntyre,  and  Lucy  and  Sarah,  and  even 
Mary,  volatile  as  she  is " 

"Mary  is  not  volatile,  Mrs.  Snow,"  spoke  up  my 
mother ;  "  she  is  only  light-hearted  and  spirited " 

"Well,  well;  it  makes  no  difference.  I  ought  to 
have  been  more  cautious  in  speaking  of  one  of  your 
favorites.  Volatile  or  light-hearted,  she  was  at  first 
inclined  to  laugh  at  Mr.  Dill's  letter;  but  when  she 
heard  the  scheme  of  the  society,  even  she  favored  it, 
and  said  she  would  do  her  best  for  it." 

And  so,  after  announcing  her  high  purpose,  and  over 
bearing  all  opposition,  Mrs.  Snow  gathers  her  children 
together  with  much  calling  and  bustle,  washes  from 
Master  James's  countenance  a  mustache  and  divers 
other  marks  placed  upon  it  with  a  burnt  cork  by  one  of 
my  mischievous  little  brothers,  and  marches  off  to  some 
other  neighbor's,  where  she  enacts  a  like  laying  down 
of  the  law ;  and  persuading  herself  that  Mrs.  Page  and 
her  daughters  are  converts  to  her  scheme,  uses  their 
names  to  give  it  additional  weight. 

"Ma,"  says  my  sister  Bel,  starting  up,  "isn't  it  a 


136  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

shame  that  your  plan  for  doing  so  much  good  right 
here  at  home  should  be  so  thwarted  ?  I  don't  blame 
Mary  for  laughing  at  Mr.  Dill's  letter — I  had  to  laugh 
myself;  and  then  to  call  her  volatile,  and  think  she 
reasoned  her  into  submission — for  that  was  her  idea. 
She  doesn't  know  Mary  at  all.  With  all  her  spright- 
liness,  Mary  has  more  common-sense  and  sense  of  pro 
priety  than  Mrs.  Snow  can  even  appreciate." 

"  Don't  say  that,  my  daughter,"  interposed  my  mother. 
"  Mrs.  Snow  is  a  very  good  woman,  and  has  very  good 
sense — only  she  is  sometimes  too  rigid  and  too  ultra  in 
her  ideas.  If  the  ladies  wish  to  form  this  society,  we 
must  do  what  we  can." 

"  I  don't  believe  the  ladies  do  wish  the  society,  Ma," 
said  Bel ;  "  and  Mrs.  Snow  may  have  good  sense,  but 
she  is  not  nice,  and  she  doesn't  see  what  is  judicious 
and  what  is  extravagant  in  any  church  scheme.  Mary 
is  nice,  and  she  sees  also  what  is  ridiculous  in  a  very 
strong  light,  and  is  too  young  not  to  show  what  she 
thinks  and  feels.  Lucy  and  Sarah,  I  know,  don't 
approve  this  scheme  any  more  than  Mary  does,  but 
they  are  older,  and,  like  their  mother,  seem  to  have  a 
sort  of  superstitious  respect  for  preachers  and  their 
wives.  If  Mary  does  go  into  this  affair  it  will  be  be 
cause  she  anticipates  fun  at  the  meetings." 

"  Yes,  miss,"  says  my  mother,  "  and  you  and  she  will 
go  off  to  yourselves  to  giggle,  and  turn  everything  Mrs. 
Snow  and  the  other  ladies  say  or  do  into  ridicule  to 
each  other,  and  will  not  do  a  stitch  of  work." 

And  Miss  Bel  went  off  smiling,  and  her  mother 
turned  to  work  on  a  pair  of  Master  Eldred's  pants 
which  he  had  made  very  practicable  in  climbing. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  137 

The  meeting  was  held,  as  per  order,  and  Mrs.  Snow 
announced,  in  effect,  that  it  was  projected  to  make  up 
baby  caps  and  slips,  fancy  aprons  and  pincushions,  or 
namented  shirts  and  underclothing1  for  gentlemen,  cigar 
cases,  tobacco  bags,  lamp  mats,  and  all  sorts  of  footy 
pretty  things,  and  when  enough  were  made,  either  to 
send  them  on  to  the  parent  society  at  Philadelphia,  or 
to  hold  a  fair  in  Yatton  and  dispose  of  them  at  pre 
posterous  prices.  And  Miss  Mary  and  Miss  Bel  found 
plenty  of  amusement  in  the  disappointment  of  the  rev 
erend  lady  when  old  Mrs.  Diggory  was  chosen  Presi 
dent  instead  of  herself,  and  the  sudden  way  in  which 
she  found  that  objections  might  be  raised  to  parts  of 
the  plan.  It  was  a  fund  of  amusement  for  them  for  a 
long  time  afterward,  and  "  Oh,  Mrs.  Diggory,  I  greatly 
fear  you  overrate  our  means  !"  was  almost  a  cant  phrase 
with  them  whenever  they  met  and  happened  to  differ 
about  the  practicability  of  anything. 


CHAPTER    XL 

THE  society  was  formed,  and  I  bless  it  to  this  day, 
because  it  was  the  means  of  my  first  realizing,  as 
though  a  veil  had  been  drawn  from  my  eyes,  the  gentle 
and  lovable  nature  of  Mary  Mclntyre.     True,  I  had 
known  her  well  before,  as  the  dear  friend  of  my  sisters, 
— she  was  about  a  year  younger  than  Bel, — and  had 
perceived  she  was  a  pretty  and  pleasant  girl ;  but  I, 
in  my  manliness,  had  been  passing  her  over  as  a  sort 
12* 


138  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

of  bread-and-butter  Miss,  who  would  make  some  man  a 
good  wife  at  a  future,  distant  day,  and  had  been  look 
ing  far  away  for  some  princess  worthy  of  my  fealty. 

Have  you  not  noticed  how  you  may  be  the  com 
panion  for  years  of  some  man,  woman,  or  child,  and 
yet  find  all  of  a  sudden  that  you  never  appreciated  the 
sprightliness,  purity,  or  perfections  you  now  see  in 
every  action?  So  it  was  with  me ;  as  though  my  pleas 
ant  little  Miss  had  been  suddenly  taken  up  into  the 
clouds,  transformed,  and,  before  I  had  remarked  her 
absence,  placed  before  my  sight  a  beautiful  creature 
made  to  love  and  to  be  worshiped.  But  a  moment 
before  I  could  not  have  told  whether  her  eyes  were 
blue  or  gray — now  I  saw  they  were  a  deep-melting 
blue,  sparkling  with  mirthfulness,  or,  in  her  thoughtful 
moods,  beaming  with  the  diamond  light  of  dawn.  Only 
yesterday  I  could  not  have  decided  whether  her  hair 
was  sandy  or  reddish — now  I  discovered  that  its  abund 
ant  tresses  were  a  deep  glossy  brown.  I  knew  that 
she  had  a  small  and  beautifully-shaped  hand,  and  had 
heard  my  sisters  say  that  her  feet  were  also  models  of 
beauty;  but  now  I  could  see  that  she  was  perfection 
in  all  of  her  slender  and  flexible  proportions.  And 
when  this  lovely  vision,  almost  penitent  of  her  beauty, 
stood  modestly  before  me,  beaming  with  the  halo  of 
her  own  goodness  and  purity,  I  was  for  the  moment 
entranced,  and  then  cast  my  life  and  soul  at  her  feet, 
to  be  taken  up  and  cherished,  or,  as  in  my  humility  I 
thought  most  likely,  to  be  spurned.  After  this  I  would 
have  cheerfully  undergone  a  life  of  toil  and  misery  to 
gain  her  love,  and  often  wished  the  old  times  of  ro 
mance  were  here  again,  so  that  I  could  by  chivalrous 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  139 

emprise,  or  some  doughty  deed,  have  beguiled  her  of 
her  love,  or  taken  it  by  storm.  Willingly  would  I  have 
died  in  the  attempt,  so  that  she  would  at  least  have 
loved  my  memory  and  dropped  a  pitying  tear  upon  my 
grave. 

My  love  came  upon  me  like  enchantment,  and  I 
walked  hereafter  like  one  in  a  dream.  The  spell  was 
but  a  foretaste  of  heaven's  reality,  and  from  the  dream 
I  never  yet  have  waked. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

HAD  now  commenced  the  practice  of  my  profes 
sion,  and  was  beginning  to  learn  not  to  despise 
any  antagonist.  Col.  Jenks  had  taught  me  to  be  wary. 
Mr.  Harkness  had  shown  me  that  there  were  deeps 
within  the  depths  of  the  law  which  I  must  approfound 
(that  word  is  not  English,  but  it  ought  to  be),  and  that 
the  law  was  in  reality  a  science;  and  Judge  Carswell, 
who  presided  in  court  with  placid  dignity  until  a  time 
for  him  to  speak  arrived,  when  his  square  jaws  moved, 
and  his  nervous  lips  seemed  to  bite  off  his  words  as 
though  it  were  Fate  which  spake,  taught  me  the  pro 
priety  of  being  respectful.  His  decisions  were  as  irre 
versible  as  the  procession  of  the  equinoxes,  and  were 
as  quick  as  lightning.  Woe  to  the  wight  who  gave 
cause  for  a  fine  or  an  imprisonment  for  contempt — no 
excuses  could  save  him.  I  venture  to  say  that  during 
the  fourteen  years  he  was  upon  the  bench,  not  one  re- 


140 

mission  of  a  fine,  unless  one  upon  some  juryman  who 
had  been  detained  by  high  water,  was  ever  recorded ; 
and  as  for  fine  or  imprisonment  for  a  contempt,  I  sel 
dom  saw  one  hardy  enough  to  seek  to  evade  it.  He 
was  a  rare  judge ;  one  of  a  class  which  was  then  com 
mon  in  our  country  when  the  right  of  choice  was  not 
exercised  by  so  many,  and  the  number  to  choose  from 
was  not  so  great  as  it  is  fast  becoming.  He  was  abso 
lutely  and  relatively  impartial,  and  as  for  fear,  it  was 
well  known  that  he  rather  enjoyed  a  fight. 

His  knowledge  of  the  practice  of  law  was  very  great, 
and  the  Superior  Court  rarely  reversed  one  of  his  de 
cisions.  It  was  a  great  advantage  to  me,  and  to  the 
other  young  members  of  the  bar,  that  our  Gamaliel  was 
one  who  had  Rhadamanthus  for  a  model.  Careless 
ness  was  never  overlooked,  and  the  statute  of  Jeofails 
was  most  rigidly  interpreted.  Justice  never  went  slip 
shod  in  his  court  as  she  did  before  Squire  Carter,  but 
tread  firmty  in  boots  with  long  spurs. 

One  of  the  best  qualities  of  a  judge  is  to  preserve 
order.  I  do  not  mean  quiet  and  silence  in  the  court 
room,  for  that  is  the  business  of  the  Sheriff  and  his  offi 
cers — but  order  in  the  proceedings  ;  and  only  a  judge 
who  thoroughly  understands  practice  as  well  as  law, 
can  do  that.  It  was  in  this,  as  well  as  in  his  inflexi 
bility,  that  Judge  Cars  well  excelled.  When  a  case 
went  to  one  of  his  juries  it  had  its  beginning,  its  mid 
dle,  and  its  end,  all  clearly  defined  before  them,  and 
they  were  never  in  confusion — except  with  that  con 
fusion  which  naturally  exists  in  the  heads  of  about 
eleven  out  of  every  twelve  of  an  ordinary  jury.  If  the 
decisions  of  civil  cases  tried  by  jury  were  not  always 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  141 

right,  it  was  certainly  the  fault  of  the  system,  under 
Judge  Carswell's  rule.  He  had  a  contemptuous  fear 
of  the  system,  as  has  every  good  lawyer  who  knows  he 
has  the  right  side  of  a  case  to  be  decided.  Not  one 
client  in  ten  can  make  a  plain  and  correct  statement  of 
•.  his  own  case,  and  not  one  in  twenty  can  come  to  a 
correct  judgment  of  it  with  any  certainty.  How  then 
is  it  possible  that  they  can  understand  more  clearly  and 
judge  more  infallibly  the  cases  of  others  ? 

The  truth  is  that  the  trial  by  jmy  has  been  carried 
to  an  excess  both  in  this  country  and  in  England. 
Magna  Charta  was  such  a  glorious  triumph  that  it  has 
sentimentalized  two  nations,  and  ruined  vast  numbers 
in  every  generation  of  men  for  six  centuries.  Because 
it  gives  a  criminal  a  better  chance  for  escape — for  juries 
almost  never  err  to  the  side  of  severity,  even  in  that  best 
of  all  courts,  in  its  proper  place,  the  Court  of  Judge 
Lynch  ;  and  because  it  is  more  agreeable  to  divide  the 
responsibility  of  punishing  between  twelve  men  rather 
than  impose  it  upon  one, — therefore  twelve  men  can 
decide  more  ex  aequo  et  bono,  and  with  less  burden  of 
responsibility,  upon  the  most  abstruse  and  confused 
questions  of  law  and  fact  involved  in  civil  affairs  !  The 
non  sequitur  is  apparent,  and  yet  for  twenty  genera 
tions,  in  two  hemispheres,  men  have  followed  it. 

There  were  two  reasons  why  the  grant  of  the  trial 
by  jury  to  the  English  people  was  a  great  boon,  neither 
of  which  is  to  any  degree  applicable  to  this  country,  so 
far;  what  it  would  be  under  a  different  form  of  civil 
government,  or  under  a  military  despotism,  we  need 
not  concern  ourselves  about.  In  England  the  judges 
were  the  creatures  of  the  court,  and  were  wholly  under 


142  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

court  influence,  to  imprison  and  kill  at  its  command, 
and  therefore  trial  by  jury,  and  the  writ  of  Habeas  Cor 
pus,  were  absolutely  essential  for  the  lives  and  liberties 
of  the  subject.  But  the  trial  by  jury  was  also  a  political 
measure.  The  king  governed  by  divine  right ;  his  acts 
could  not  be  questioned  or  reversed,  and  his  courts  were 
wholly  under  his  influence  and  that  of  his  nobles;  the 
people  had  no  protection  except  by  revolution,  which 
was  then  impossible  with  them,  and  the  right  to  try  and 
decide  their  own  civil  causes  was  justly  considered  a 
triumph,  and  a  protection  and  elevation  of  the  people. 
In  this  country  the  people  have  everything  their  own 
way.  They  have  liberty,  which,  but  for  the  restrictions 
of  a  mere  paper  constitution,  would  soon  be  developed 
into  licentiousness,  or  the  frenzy  of  a  mob,  which  is  no 
better,  or,  rather,  is  the  same  thing.*  Their  judges  are 
either  directly  elected,  or  are  appointed  by  those  who 
are  elected  for  very  short  terms,  and  the  right  of  im 
peachment  is  very  clear,  and  its  exercise  is  unobstructed. 
If  they  have  not  good  judges,  it  is  their  own  fault;  so 
that  by  continuing  the  trial  by  jury  in  civil  cases,  they 
virtually  declare  that  they  have  little  confidence  in  their 
own  discretion  to  elect  honest  and  capable  men — and, 
therefore,  that  the  right  of  suffrage  is  a  questionable 
excellence  in  human  government.  The  idea  of  leaving 
a  man's  fortune  or  honor  to  depend  upon  the  agreement 
in  a  verdict  of  twelve  men  taken  at  random,  without  re 
gard  to  knowledge,  honor,  or  discretion,  rather  than  to  a 
judge  who  at  least  knows  some  law,  and  who  is  subject 

*  It  must  be  remembered  that  Mr.  Page  wrote  this  in  1861, 
or  before  that  time,  and  died  just  at  the  close  of  the  late  war. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  143 

to  prosecution  for  misfeasance  or  malfeasance,  and 
whose  decision  is  subject  to  revision  by  a  higher  tri 
bunal  (why  is  that  not  also  a  random  jury?),  is  simply 
preposterous,  and  can  be  the  choice  of  only  a  set  of 
idiots,  or  ignoramuses,  or  sentimentalists,  —  and  the 
mass  of  the  English  and  American  people  are  not  idiots, 
whatever  else  may  be  said  of  them. 

If  I  express  myself  strongly  upon  this  matter  it  is  be 
cause  I  feel  strongly;  because  I  have  in  my  long  prac 
tice  actually  seen  so  much  folly  and  injustice  committed 
without  blame,  and  borne  without  a  murmur,  by  two 
generations  of  men  educated  to  a  superstitious  reverence 
of  Magna  Charta,  which,  considered  as  a  panacea  for 
civil  ills,  I  now  in  my  old  age  pronounce  to  be  a  hum 
bug.  There  is  no  panacea  for  wrong  and  injustice  ex 
cept  divine  love  and  divine  knowledge  united  in  divine 
wisdom.  There  is  no  human  cure-all  for  any  species  of 
derangement,  and  the  man  who  pretends  to  have  found 
a  system  or  a  maxim  in  politics,  law,  or  medicine,  of 
universally  strict  application  and  virtue,  is  a  quack. 
The  only  perfect  institution  is  divine — the  Christian 
religion — and  even  that  must  be  taken  in  its  simplicity, 
i  or  it  becomes  itself  a  fruitful  cause  of  sad  derangement 
i  and  destruction  in  the  hands  of  men. 

The  world  has  been  governed  by  sentimental  maxims 
long  enough,  and  the  man  who  invents  a  maxim,  or  a 
popular  saying,  should  publish  it  in  the  position  of  a 
Locrian  who  proposed  a  law,  or  an  amendment  to  a 
law — with  a  rope  around  his  neck  to  strangle  him  the 
moment  it  is  decided  unsound. 

One  of  the  most  false  and  pernicious  of  all  modern 
political  maxims  is  this :  "  The  best  government  is  that 


144  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

which  governs  least."  Let  a  man  try  it  in  his  family 
or  on  his  plantation,  and  he  will  soon  find  out  his 
error. 

All  this,  however,  is  by-the-by.  I  find  as  I  get 
older  that  I  am  more  and  more  apt  to  wander  into  by 
paths,  which  branch  with  never-ending  succession  from 
the  main  arteries  and  veins  of  my  subject,  and  unfail 
ingly  run  into  them  again  if  followed  far  enough.  At 
some  more  appropriate  era  in  this  history  (and  many 
will  doubtless  occur)  I  will  expose  the  falsity  of  this 
maxim,  and  the  folly  of  its  kindred  dogma,  universal 
suffrage,  both  of  which  are  based  on  sentiment,  unsup 
ported  by  reason  and  experience.  I  could  do  so  now, 
and  if  my  reader  would  go  quietly  along  with  me, 
could,  by  the  plainest  paths,  lead  him  again  naturally, 
while"  always  progressing,  into  my  experience  at  the 
bar,  from  which  we  have  wandered  thus  far  ;  but  there 
is  no  call  for  a  display  of  my  skill  as  a  pilot.  I  would 
only  have  him  remark  that  violence  in  going  from  a 
digression  back  into  the  main  line  of  discourse  is  rarely 
necessary  except  for  brevity — which  was  a  quality 
upon  which  Judge  Carswell  always  insisted  in  all  the 
pleadings,  oral  or  written,  and  in  the  examination  of 
all  witnesses  in  his  court. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  145 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

AN  occurrence  which  took  place  during  this  time  of 
jt\.  my  life  I  will  relate,  as  illustrating  the  state  of 
the  society  in  which  I  lived. 

It  was  then  the  fashion  to  give  gentlemen's  dinner 
parties,  at  which  no  ladies  were  present — even  the  mis 
tress  of  the  mansion  taking  the  opportunity  to  spend 
the  day  abroad  with  all  her  children,  if  she  had  any, 
or,  if  she  remained  at  home  to  superintend  the  service 
of  the  meal,  remaining  secluded,  invisible  to  the  guests. 
As  was  to  be  supposed,  on  these  occasions  great  quan 
tities  of  wines  and  liquors  were  consumed,  and  though 
there  was  rarely  actual  stupid  or  frenzied  drunkenness, 
the  gentlemen  became  very  mellow  and  jovial. 

One  day  there  was  a  large  dinner  party  at  Dr.  Luck- 
ett's,  and  among  the  guests  were  Mr.  Charles  Burruss, 
Dr.  Coiburn  Sandys,  and  Colonel  James  Morton,  three 
gentlemen  well  acquainted  with  each  other,  as  indeed 
were  all  the  others  present.  It  will  be  necessary  to 
describe  these  gentlemen,  in  order  for  the  reader  to 
appreciate  the  catastrophe. 

Mr.  Charles  Burruss  was  a  stout,  florid  young  law 
yer,  about  twenty- seven  years  of  age,  who,  though  he 
had  the  reputation  of  a  rising  man  in  a  grave  profes 
sion,  was  yet  a  most  incorrigible  practical  joker.  His 
jokes  were  never  ill-natured  in  the  sense  of  an  inten 
tion  to  seriously  injure  the  subjects  of  them,  but  were 
the  results  of  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  united  to 
13  K 


146  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

high  animal  spirits,  and  a  considerable  degree  of  selfish 
disregard  to  the  feelings  and  comfort  of  others.  As 
the  number  of  his  subjects  was  of  course  limited,  and 
the  laughers  were  many,  he  was  very  popular,  and  was 
therefore  rather  petted  and  screened  from  the  odium 
and  punishment  his  pranks  sometimes  deserved. 

Dr.  Colburn  Sandys  was  rather  a  personage  than  a 
person.  He  was  a  tall,  lank,  dark-faced  man  of  thirty- 
three  or  four  years  of  age,  who  wore  spectacles,  and 
abroad  was  always  seen  walking  with  a  gold-headed 
ebony  cane.  His  dress  and  manners  were  very  precise, 
and  he  assumed  a  grave  aristocratic  bearing,  which  did 
not  ill  become  him.  He  was  a  Marylander — one  of  the 
Eastern  Shore  Sandyses,  as  he  insisted,  to  distinguish 
them,  I  suppose,  from  the  Baltimore  Sandyses,  and, 
again,  from  those  from  Frederick,  with  whom  he  seemed 
still  more  anxious  not  to  be  confounded.  As  a  Mary- 
lander,  he  was  of  course  a  gastronome  of  the  first 
order ;  and  his  taste  in  terrapin-soup  and  stews  was 
certainly  undeniable,  while  his  knowledge  of  wines 
showed  much  observation,  and  great  practice  in  distin 
guishing  their  ages,  qualities,  and  kinds.  He  was 
therefore  in  great  request  on  these  occasions,  when  the 
very  best  viands  and  most  skillful  art  of  the  county 
were  dispkyed  upon  the  board;  and  his  opinion  was 
oracular.  His  profession — or  trade,  which  is  it  ? — was 
that  of  dentistry,  of  which  he  was  one  of  the  pioneers 
in  our  part  of  the  country,  and  the  number,  variety, 
and  beauty  of  his  instruments  of  torture  were  the 
wonder  of  town  and  county.  Having  the  bearing  of 
a  gentleman,  and  bringing  favorable  letters  of  intro 
duction  to  one  or  two  gentlemen  of  note — Colonel  Mor- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  147 

ton  being  one  of  them — he  had  been  received  from  the 
outset,  about  two  years  before,  into  our  best  society, 
and  had  so  conducted  himself  as  to  be  highly  respected 
by  all,  if  a  little  disliked  by  some  for  a  slight  narrow- 
minded  haughtiness  and  fire  they  thought  they  per 
ceived,  and  which  they  thought  hardly  became  one  of 
his  profession,  or  trade,  of  "tooth-carpentry."  Though 
his  education  had  been  neither  very  varied  nor  profound, 
he  had  evidently  been  well  raised;  and  though  his  aris 
tocratic  gravity  and  punctilio  were  somewhat  offensive 
to  the  very  familiar  acquaintanceship  which  exists  in 
country  villages  and  neighborhoods,  he  was  undoubt 
edly  a  well-meaning  and  honorable  man,  and  was  so 
esteemed. 

Of  Colonel  Morton,  his  earliest  friend  and  patron,  I 
need  say  but  little.  His  father,  James  Morton,  the 
elder,  had  removed  from  Maryland  while  the  colonel 
was  still  a  lad,  and  had  opened  a  plantation  near  Yat- 
ton,  upon  which  the  colonel  now  lived.  Nothing  could 
be  breathed  against  his  probity;  but  he  was  vain,  chol 
eric,  and  unreasonable;  and  had  unfortunately  mar 
ried  a  wife  who  resembled  him,  and  was,  if  anything, 
an  instigator  rather  than  a  soothe;1  of  his  unreasonable 
whims  and  prejudices. 

The  dinner  had  progressed  most  harmoniously;  the 
dessert  and  decanters  were  upon  the  table,  and  the  jest 
and  laugh  were  in  full  tide,  when  Dr.  Sandys  was  heard 
to  say,  in  an  excited  tone,  "  Sir,  allow  me  to  tell  you 
that  I  do  not  admire  your  wit  or  your  jokes ;  the  one 
is  vulgar  and  the  others  brutal,  and  unless  you  wish 
your  jaws  slapped " 

Every  one  looked  up  astonished,  and  saw  that  the  doc- 


148  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

tor  was  standing  up  and  shaking  bis  finger  at  Mr.  Bur- 
russ,  who,  as  he  rose  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  table 
at  the  word  "slapped,"  threw  the  contents  of  his  wine 
glass  in  his  face.  No  one  knew  the  beginning  of  the 
altercation — nor  do  I  know  it  to  this  day — but  every 
one  rose  instantly,  and  those  on  either  side  of  the  table 
rushed  to  the  nearest  party  to  prevent  their  getting  to 
gether  in  conflict.  That  end  being  apparently  accom 
plished,  all  was  silence  for  a  brief  moment,  when  Mr. 
Burruss  turned  to  the  host  and  said:  "Dr.  Luckett,  I 
regret  extremely  that  this  should  have  occurred  at  your 
table;  but  you  heard  the  gross  insult  offered  me  by 
Dr.  Sandys,  and  I  could  not  have  acted  otherwise  than 
I  did.  I  was  perhaps  wrong  in  attempting  a  joke  with 
Dr.  Sandys,  whom  I  know  to  be  sensitive,  and  but  for 
his  folly  I  would  have  apologized ;  but  now  there  is  no 
question  of  whether  I  was  wrong  or  right,  and  I  shall 
hold  myself  ready  to  give  him,  or  any  one  of  his 
friends,  any  satisfaction  desired." 

This  was  rather  a  long  speech  for  such  an  occasion, 
but  it  was  made  by  a  man  who  in  danger  was  as  cool 
as  death ;  and  he  was  not  interrupted  even  by  the  doc 
tor,  who  stood  glaring  at  him,  livid  and  speechless  with 
passion. 

Mr.  Markham  and  Captain  White  then  advanced  to 
Burruss,  and  they  went  out  of  the  room  and  house  to 
gether,  after  first  bowing  politely  to  Dr.  Luckett,  and 
bidding  him  good  evening. 

This  was  every  word  spoken  on  the  occasion  after 
the  attack  by  Dr.  Sandys,  except  this — which  could 
not  be  related  in  the  order  in  which  it  occurred :  The 
moment  Burruss  threw  the  wine  in  the  doctor's  face, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  149 

Morton,  who  was  sitting  near  him,  rushed  at  him, 
exclaiming,  "Burruss,  God  d — n  your  soul!  what  do 
you  mean  ?  You  d — d  brute  !" 

In  his  remarks  to  Dr.  Luckett,  Burruss  did  not  once 
look  at  Morton  until  he  came  to  the  words  "  or  any  one 
of  his  friends,"  which  he  uttered  looking  and  slightly 
bowing  meaningly  at  Morton,  who,  however,  answered 
not  a  word. 

There  is  actually  all  that  occurred  in  the  room — ex 
cept  the  provocation  which  Burruss  gave,  which  was 
some  remark  no  one  heard  or  knew — although  there 
were  a  thousand  reports,  each  differing  and  exagger 
ated.  Some  had  it  that  Burruss  had  given  the  lie  to 
both  Sandys  and  Morton ;  others  that  he  had  given 
the  lie  to  Sandys,  and  that  Morton  had  taken  it  up  and 
retorted  it;  some  this,  others  that;  and,  in  fact,  the 
tragic  end  of  the  quarrel  could  have  warranted  the 
worst  provocations  to  be  ascribed. 

It  was  in  the  latter  part  of  June — Wednesday,  the 
24th,  I  think — that  the  dinner  was  given,  and  the  affair 
I  am  relating  took  place  about  an  hour  by  sun — sav, 

•/  «/  7 

at  six  o'clock  P.M.  About  half-past  six,  Burruss,  who 
was  standing  on  Main  Street  talking  with  Captain 
White,  was  informed  that  Dr.  Sandys  had  armed  him 
self  and  was  looking  for  him.  He  instantly  remarked, 
"I  am  sorry  for  that,  White;  for  I  hoped  that  if  the 
matter  had  to  come  to  the  worst,  it  should  have  been  in 
the  regular  way.  At  any  rate,  the  man  is  a  fool,  and 
I  don't  .wish  to  kill  him ;  so  I  will  keep  out  of  his  way 
if  possible."  With  that  he  started  off  to  his  room, 
which  was  the  one  formerly  occupied  by  Dagobert  Q. 
Thomas,  where  he  put  a  pair  of  small  pistols  in  his 
13* 


150 


LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 


, 


pocket;  and  thinking  that  perhaps  that  would  be  the 
first  place  to  which  Sandys  would  come,  he  went  out, 
closed  the  front  door,  and  started  leisurely  down  toward 
the  drug-store. 

Just  as  he  reached  the  corner  he  saw  Sandys  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  cross  street  advancing  toward  him, 
and  then  about  forty  feet  off.  The  doctor  had  a  pistol 
in  each  hand,  and  the  moment  he  saw  Burruss  halt,  he 
exclaimed:  "Defend  yourself,  you  d — d  rascal!"  and 
raised  the  pistol  in  his  right  hand  and  fired.  Before  he 
could  change  hands  and  fire  his  other  pistol,  Burruss 
fired — and  the  ball  passed  through  Sandys's  head,  and 
he  fell  dead  without  a  groan.  As  Burrows  raised  his 
pistol  to  fire,  he  said:  "Well,  if  you  will  have  it, 
take  it!" 

Hardly  had  Sandys's  body  touched  the  ground  when 
Morton  was  noticed  about  forty  yards  off  running  to 
the  spot  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand,  to  take  part  in  the 
fray;  but  before  he  could  come  near  enough  to  fire  at 
Burruss  with  any  certainty,  a  crowd  of  their  mutual 
friends  had  gathered  around  both,  and  Morton,  finding 
himself  thwarted,  shook  his  fist  at  Burruss,  exclaiming, 
"You  d — d  murdering  scoundrel,  I'll  pay  you  yet !" 

Burruss  immediately  surrendered  himself  to  the  sheriff, 
who  by  that  time  had  reached  the  spot,  and  was  exam 
ined  at  once  and  discharged  by  Squire  Carter,  who  had 
not  yet  left  his  office  for  home,  upon  the  ground  that  he 
had  acted  in  self-defense. 

Morton  had  the  body  of  Dr.  Sandys  tenderly  removed, 
coffined,  and  laid  in  state  in  the  parlor  of  the  tavern  in 
which  he  had  boarded,  and,  as  I  was  told,  manifested  a 
kind  of  morbid  concern  over  it,  as  much  grief,  in  fact, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  151 

as  would  have  been  natural  had  it  been  the  body  of  a 
beloved  brother.  He  talked  over  and  over  again  about 
their  having  come  from  the  same  State,  and  remarked 
that  he  had  been  the*one  to  introduce  Sandys  into  so 
ciety,  and  it  was  his  duty  to  see  his  murderer  punished. 

The  next  day,  Thursday,  at  4  P.M.,  the  funeral  took 
place,  Col.  Morton  and  his  wife  acting  as  chief  mourners. 
There  was  a  large  escort  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  in 
carriages  and  on  horseback,  and  the  body  was  conveyed 
out  to  Col.  Morton's  family  bury  ing-ground,  about  four 
miles  from  town,  where  it  was  interred. 

Friday  afternoon  it  was  rumored  over  town  that  Col. 
Stewart,  who  was  a  noted  fire-eater,  acting  on  the  part 
of  Morton,  had  waited  upon  Mr.  Burruss  with  a  per 
emptory  challenge,  which  had  been  accepted ;  and  that 
Col.  Stewart  had  been  referred  to  Capt  White  as 
Burruss's  friend. 

But  this  was  not  all  true.  Stewart  had  been  sent  for 
by  Morton,  and  after  hearing  his  statement  of  the  case 
had  decided  that  Burruss  had  neither  done  nor  said 
anything  for  which  he,  Morton,  could  call  upon  him  to 
apologize,  and  certainly  had  neither  done  nor  said  any 
thing  he  could  retract  with  honor,  or  even  retract  at  all, 
and  that  therefore  if  Morton  was  determined  to  fight 
him,  he  must  either  do  so  upon  the  first  opportunity  of 
their  meeting,  after  giving  due  notice,  or  must  send  a 
peremptory  challenge  assigning  no  cause.  And  there 
upon  the  peremptory  challenge  was  drawn  up  and  was 
presented,  as  was  said,  but  Burruss  had  referred  the 
bearer  to  Capt.  White,  without  accepting  it. 

And  here  is  what  followed — or,  rather,  the  important 
part  of  it ;  for  the  negotiation  was  long  and  involved. 


152  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

Capt.  White  asked  Col.  Stewart  a  delay  of  twenty-four 
hours  that  he  might  consult  his  principal ;  which  was 
granted.  Before  the  time  had  elapsed  he  returned  a 
written  answer,  the  points  of  which  were  that  Mr.  Bur- 
russ  had  always  from  boyhood  been  on  the  most  friendly 
terras  with  Col.  Morton;  that  Burruss  was  a  bachelor 
while  Morton  had  a  wife  and  child  ;  that  Morton  had 
assigned  no  cause  for  his  challenge,  and  that  Burruss 
could  neither  consent  to  kill  him  nor  to  expose  himself 
to  death  without  a  valid  reason  being  shown. 

In  answer  to  this,  Morton  replied  that  Burruss  knew 
very  well  the  causes  of  the  challenge,  but  that,  to  be 
more  definite,  he,  Morton,  would  assign  for  sufficient 
reason  the  insulting  looks,  gestures,  and  threats  used 
toward  him  by  Burruss  at  Dr.  Luckett's  dinner  table  on 
the  24th  inst. 

To  this,  Capt.  White,  under  the  instructions  of  his 
principal,  replied  that  if  Col.  Morton  would  withdraw 
and  apologize  for  the  abusive  language  used  by  him  at 
Dr.  Luckett's  table,  Burruss  was  perfectly  willing  to 
withdraw  what  he  had  said  on  that  occasion  in  the  heat 
and  excitement  of  the  moment. 

This,  Col.  Morton  absolutely  refused  to  do.  He  said 
that  what  he  had  then  said  he  now  repeated,  and  that 
if  he,  Burruss,  did  not  accept  his  challenge  he  would 
post  him  as  a  coward,  and  would  cane  him  upon  the 
street,  and  shoot  him  if  he  resisted. 

This  estopped  Burruss  from  every  objection,  and  he 
accepted  the  challenge,  choosing  rifles  as  the  weapons, 
and  generously  leaving  the  day,  place,  and  distance  to 
be  fixed  by  his  adversary.  In  this  matter  he  was 
moved,  I  suppose,  by  consideration  of  the  family,  and 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  153 

business  arrangements  which  Morton  would  necessarily 
have  to  make,  and  the  known  fact  that  his,  Morton's, 
eyes  were  weak. 

Never  in  all  my  life,  in  which  I  have  known  of  many 
and  been  concerned  in  two  or  three  affairs,  which,  how 
ever,  it  could  do  no  possible  good  to  speak  of  in  this 
history — have  I  known  so  much  generosity  as  was  dis 
played  by  Burruss  in  all  the  preliminaries  of  this  duel. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  will  hardly  be  believed  when  I 
say  that  Mrs.  Morton  was  consulted  by  her  husband  in 
the  whole  affair,  and  was  even  urged  on  by  her  to  take 
the  course  he  did.  Much  less  can  I  expect  full  credence 
when  I  say  that  after  the  time  (the  26th  of  July)  was 
fixed,  she  accompanied  her  husband  every  day  to  the 
orchard  where  a  target  (upon  which  the  outlines  of  a 
full-grown  man  were  marked,  with  a  straight  line  run 
ning  from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  his  feet)  was  pre 
pared,  and  that  she  gave  him  the  word,  and  exhorted 
or  instructed  him  how  to  make  his  shots,  whether  at 
the  hips,  the  breast,  or  the  head.  But  this  is  actually 
the  fact.  How  it  should  be  accounted  for  I  do  not 
know.  Though  she  was  high  tempered,  and  narrow 
minded,  she  was  not  a  bad  woman  in  any  sense.  One 
more  hospitable  and  ladylike  in  her  own  house  will 
rarely  be  seen,  and  she  was  well  known  to  be  an  im 
pulsively  charitable  woman  to  the  poor. 

Perhaps  the  secret  lies  in  that  very  word  "  impul 
sive,"  which  does  not,  when  rightly  used,  denote  merely 
a  kind  of  spasmodic  action,  but  an  action  which,  how 
ever  sudden  in  its  commencement,  may  be  continuous 
for  years.  Some  of  the  most  impulsive  persons  I  have 
ever  known  have  been  the  most  obstinate  when  once 


154  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

the  impulse  was  allowed  to  act.  Besides  this,  impulse 
is  used  as  an  antithesis  to  calculation  or  reflection,  and 
many  impulsive  persons  never  make  use  of  sober  second 
thought,  but  have  their  pride  aroused  to  persevere 
blindly  in  what  they  have  undertaken.  It  is  possible 
that  some  secret  personal  spite  to  Burruss  as  well  as  a 
natural  espousal  of  the  anger  of  her  husband  gave  rise 
to  her  conduct;  but  I  never  heard  such  a  fact  mentioned, 
or  any  reason  for  its  existence,  nor  do  I  believe  that  she 
could  be  willing  to  gratify  a  feeling  so  murderous  at 
the  risk  of  her  husband's  life,  for  she  undoubtedly  loved 
him  devotedly. 

But  whatever  may  have  been  her  reasons  she  had  to 
drink  the  gall  of  sorrow  to  its  dregs.  Before  ten  years 
rolled  over,  her  only  child,  a  son,  was  killed  by  his  own 
knife  in  a  fight  with  a  young  cousin  of  Burruss's,  about 
this  very  duel.  As  he  cut  upward  at  the  boy,  running 
after  him,  he  stumbled  and  fell  forward  on  the  knife, 
which  penetrated  his  neck,  and  killed  him  on  the  spot. 

Col.  Morton  knew  that  Burruss  was  a  splendid  rifle 
shot,  nor  could  he,  under  the  circumstances,  blame  him 
for  choosing  that  weapon  on  the  ground  that  it  gave 
him  the  advantage.  It  was,  according  to  the  "  Code" 
as  interpreted  in  the  South,  a  strictly  legal  weapon, 
and  as  by  his  own  terms  the  duel  was  to  the  death, 
Burruss  could  have  been  censured  if  he  had  not  chosen 
the  legal  weapon  which  gave  him  the  best  chance. 
The  colonel,  therefore,  practiced  diligently  up  to  the 
very  morning  before  the  fatal  day,  by  which  time  he 
had  arrived  at  a  degree  of  quickness  and  precision  from 
which  both  he  and  his  wife  augured  the  safest  results. 
Burruss,  on  the  contrary,  positively  refused  to  practice, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  155 

and  incurred  a  great  deal  of  blame  from  his  friends  by 
his  refusal.  But  he  told  them  from  the  first  that  if 
Morton  persisted  in  fighting,  he  would  kill  him ;  and  he 
was  so  impressed  with  the  certainty  of  the  event  that 
he  seemed  to  take  up  a  morbid  dislike  to  his  rifle,  as 
though  it  were  going  to  inflict  upon  him  some  great 
sorrow,  the  black  shadow  of  which  already  began  to 
throw  a  crepuscular  shade  upon  his  life ;  and  he  im 
plored  several  of  his  friends,  who  were  also  friends  to 
Morton,  to  use  their  influence  to  arrange  the  difficulty 
amicably.  He  told  them  that  he  was  yet  a  young 
man ;  that  he  had  already  been  forced  to  take  the  life 
of  a  fellow-creature,  and  though  his  conscience  justified 
the  act,  be  could  never  shake  off  the  regret  such  an 
occurrence  naturally  caused ;  that  Morton  was  insanely 
unreasonable,  for  he  had  no  real  cause  of  quarrel  with 
him  who  had  never  done  him  a  wrong,  but  on  the  con 
trary,  had  always  felt  and  shown  a  warm  friendship 
for  him  in  spite  of  his  oddities  and  overbearing  touchi 
ness. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "you.  know  that  I  am  no 
coward  ;  but  I  would  be  almost  willing  to  incur  some 
appearance  of  cowardice  to  avoid  killing  Morton,  as  I 
certainly  shall  do"  (he  did  not  say  "  will  do")  "if  he  per 
sist  in  fighting  me.  It  has  always  been  the  great  wish 
of  my  life  to  live  at  peace  and  love  with  my  fellow- 
men,  and  it  seems  hard  that  I  should  be  forced  to  bear 
the  sorrows  that  my  soul  most  hates.  But  you  know, 
gentlemen,  that  if  Morton  persist  in  it,  I  must  fight 
him.  What  choice  have  I?  To  flee  the  country;  or, 
if  I  remain  in  it,  to  have  every  dog  lifting  his  leg  upon 
me,  and  all  my  hopes  for  usefulness  and  happiness  de- 


156  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

stroyed!  Why,  that  would  be  worse  than  murder; 
and  my  life  and  the  lives  of  a-  dozen  men  would  not 
be  worth  the  sacrifice.  My  God !  my  God  !"  exclaimed 
he,  clasping  his  hands,  and  walking  hurriedly  up  and 
down  the  room,  "  why  should  I  have  to  sutler  this  ter 
rible  alternative!  Save  me,  gentlemen,  from  having 
the  brightness  of  my  life  all  extinguished,  and  save 
Morton  from  his  death  !" 

And  so  he  Avould  talk  at  times  when  foreboding  of 
the  anguish  to  come  was  too  heavy  upon  him  for  quiet. 
And  the  friends  did  try  earnestly  to  turn  Morton  from 
his  pm-posc;  but  he  and  his  wife  had  made  themselves 
like  stones. 

It  may  be  asked  why,  as  all  this  was  going  on  so 
publicly  as  to  be  in  every  man's  mouth,  even  to  its  de 
tails,  the  officers  of  the  law  did  not  interfere,  and  put 
the  parties  under  bonds  to  keep  the  peace  ? 

To  this  I  answer  that  there  were  several  good  rea 
sons  why  such  a  course  was  not  pursued :  First,  that 
no  amount  of  bond  could  have  accomplished  the  ob 
ject.  Secondly,  that  the  grand  jury  was  not  in  session, 
and  by  the  law  no  magistrate  could  issue  his  warrant 
unless  for  an  offense  committed  in  his  view  (though  I 
knew  an  ambitious  young  magistrate  to  decide  that 
"view"  meant  "jurisdiction"),  except  upon  affidavit 
made  by  some  credible  person,  and  no  man,  who 
thought  he  knew  the  fact  sufficiently  well  to  take  an 
oath  about  it,  was  willing  to  interfere.  Thirdly,  duels 
which  originated  in  the  county  were  fought  out  of  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  officers,  just  across  the  river  in  the 
adjoining  State ;  and,  lastly,  not  to  be  diffuse,  the  offi 
cers  of  the  law  and  all  good  citizens  knew  that  a  duel, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  15f 

bad  as  it  was,  was  the  way  in  which  the  affair  could  be 
settled  with  least  harm  to  individuals,  and  with  most 
benefit  to  the  community  ;  that  it  was  far  better  for  the 
parties  to  meet  under  the  restraints  of  the  laws  of  the 
Duello,  and  finally  end  the  quarrel  though  at  the  ex 
pense  of  one  or  both  lives,  than  have  them  continue 
the  quarrel  and  meet  in  conflict,  in  defiance  of  all  law, 
and  not  only  endanger  their  own  lives,  but  the  peace 
and  lives  of  others  who  would  almost  inevitably  be 
drawn  into  it,  as  they  would  be  present  at  it. 

Old  as  I  am,  or  rather  (as  perhaps  I  should  begin 
the  sentence)  with  my  experience,  I  do  not  hesitate  to 
say  that,  within  just  bounds,  the  practice  of  dueling- 
is  the  best  preventive  for  many  infinitely  worse  evils 
with  which  society  is  necessarily  afflicted,  and  the 
arguments  against  it  are  in  a  human  point  of  view 
namby-pambily  sentimental.  Shaving  was  invented 
for  men  who  had  no  beards,  and  the  wholesale  talk 
against  dueling  was  invented  for  men  who  had  no 
stomach  for  being  jerked  up  to  answer  for  wrongs  they 
wished  to  commit  with  impunity  or  to  answer  for  only 
under  legal  process,  with  all  the  chances  to  escape 
afforded  by  the  law's  delay  and  uncertainties. 

There  are  very  great  errors  lying  at  the  bottom  of 
all  the  transcendental  theories  of  law  which  are  erro 
neously  called  Christian.  One  is,  that  they  are  too 
literal.  Because  it  is  taught  that  men  should  be  meek 
and  forbearing,  if  a  man,  Christian  or  sinner,  does  not 
literally  turn  his  cheek  to  be  smitten  on  the  other  side, 
he  must  be  read  out,  and  punished,  thus  ignoring  the 
very  nature  God  has  given  us.  Another  error  is  that 
they  are  laws  for  Christians  alone — as  Christians — and 
14 


158  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

the  fact  is  not  recognized  that  evils  exist  which  cannot 
be  prevented,  and  can  only  be  regulated.  But  law 
must  be  adapted,  as  well  as  made,  for  the  unrighteous 
(the  righteous  need  neither  law  nor  repentance ;  they 
are  a  law  unto  themselves),  and  I  do  not  doubt  but 
that  if  the  duel  were  legalized,  or,  at  any  rate,  suffered, 
under  proper  restrictions,  it  would  be  the  means  of  pre 
venting  a  vast  deal  of  bloodshed,  and  worse  crime, 
which  now  goes  unpunished — and  prevention  is  better 
than  punishment. 

At  any  rate,  where  the  duel  is  recognized  as  proper 
ex  necessitate,  seduction,  slander,  and  all  other  offenses 
which  affect  the  honor,  are  very  rare,  gossip  has  a  law 
it  recognizes,  and  even  assaults,  assaults  and  batteries, 
and  quarrels  are  resorted  to  only  on  great  provocation. 
It  is  a  great  promoter  of  charity  and  peace. 

I  am  now  seventy-six  years  of  age,  and  I  have  never 
seen  a  suit  for  breach  of  promise  of  marriage,  and  have 
heard  of  but  three  or  four  cases  of  seduction  in  our 
county  (where  such  things  could  not  possibly  be  con 
cealed),  and  they  took  place  among  the  lowest  class  of 
society  in  the  "rural  district,"  of  which  I  will  speak 
after  awhile,  perhaps,  and  two  of  them  ended  in 
murder.  Moreover,  Mr.  Carey's  school  for  boys,  which 
closed  only  some  ten  years  ago,  was  the  most  orderly 
ever  known  in  the  county ;  and  it  was  because  if  two 
boys  of  about  the  same  age  and  size  commenced  a 
quarrel,  he  made  them  fight  it  out,  and  if  a  larger  boy 
commenced  a  quarrel  with  a  smaller,  he  made  the 
smaller  and  a  sufficient  number  of  other  small  boys 
thrash  him. 

The  reasons,  then,  I  have  given,  and  the  spirit  I 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  159 

have  described  prevented  any  legal  interference  with 
this  duel,  and  the  day  arrived. 

The  place  fixed  upon  was  a  small  pasture  in  the 
river  bottom  near  a  mile  below  Holman's  Ferry,  about 
nine  miles  east  of  Yatton.  Colonel  Morton,  as  had 
been  agreed  by  the  seconds,  had  crossed  the  river  the 
afternoon  before,  and  with  Colonel  Stewart,  Dr.  Can 
non,  and  one  or  two  others,  stayed  all  night  at  General 
Archer's,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  place.  Mr. 
Burruss,  with  Captain  White  and  Dr.  Holt — he  ob 
jected  to  others  going — stopped  at  Mr.  Holman's  resi 
dence  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  above  the  ferry, 
which  was  attended  to  by  an  old  negro  man  named 
Jerry,  who  had  formerly  belonged  to  Burruss's  father. 
Each  party  had  therefore  about  the  same  distance  to 
ride  to  the  scene,  and  there  could  be  no  advantage  on 
either  side  from  fatigue. 

The  precise  spot  selected  was  on  the  eastern  side  of 
the  pasture  at  the  edge  of  the  woods.  It  was  a  beau 
tiful  place,  as  level  as  a  floor,  and  the  forest  of  pines, 
oaks,  beeches,  and  magnolias — which  are  often  found 
growing  together  in  such  localities — looked  cool  and 
inviting  in  its  shady  depths,  and  the  dewy  grass 
sparkled  in  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun  like  myriads  of 
rubies  and  diamonds  set  in  emerald 

A  slight  delay  at  the  ferry,  caused  by  old  Jerry's 
slowness  and  agitation,  allowed  Colonel  Morton's 
party  to  arrive  first  by  about  five  minutes.  Old  Jerry 
had  evidently  heard  of  what  was  going  on,  and  as  Mr. 
Burruss  led  his  horse  into  the  boat,  he  said:  "See  here, 
Mass  Charley,  I'm  afeard  you  ain't  gwine  arter  no 
good  this  mornin'.  Colonel  Morton  an'  dem  crossed 


160  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

here  yesterday  evenin',  an'  I  hearn  'em  say  as  how 
you'd  be  along  early." 

"  Oh,  never  inind,  Uncle  Jerry,"  said  Mr.  Burruss ; 
"I  am  only  going  over  to  meet  some  friends." 

The  old  man  had  by  this  time  got  hold  of  the  pole 
he  used  for  shoving  off,  and  was  nervously  fumbling 
with  it  as  he  looked  up  at  Burruss,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  and  said  : 

"I's  knowed  you,  Mass  Charley,  sence  you  was  a  lit 
tle  shaver,  so  high,  an'  for  de  Lord's  sake  take  care  of 
yourself.  What  would  old  rnis-tuss  say,  if  she  knowed 
what  you  was  gwine  for !  If  you  will  do  it,  you  mus', 
an'  de  Lord  help  you.  But  you  rnus'  shoot  quick, 
Mass  Charley,  quicker'u  you  did  when  dat " 

"Oh  pshaw!  Uncle  Jerry,"  interrupted  Burruss; 
"  you've  got  notions  in  your  head  this  morning.  You 
must  have  had  bad  dreams  last  night.  I'm  afraid  Aunt 
Sukey  has  been  giving  you  a  piece  of  her  mind  again. 
Come,  old  fellow,  we  are  in  a  hurry." 

As  they  rode  up  the  farther  bank,  old  Jerry  shouted 
out,  "Good-by,  Mass  Charley,  an'  de  Lord  pertect 
you !  I'll  keep  the  boat  over  this  side  till  breakfus 
time !" 

There  were  two  pairs  of  draw-bars  to  be  let  down  in 
order  to  pass  through  a  field  which  lay  between  the 
road  and  the  pastm'e,  and  Colonel  Morton's  party  had 
left  them  partly  down  as  they  saw  by  the  absence  of 
horsetracks  that  they  were  first.  Burruss  rode  in  per 
fect  silence  and  seemed  melancholy  but  determined. 
What  his  thoughts  were,  as  he  rode  along  between  the 
rows  of  corn,  now  beginning  to  tassel  and  with  its  tender 
silks  gemmed  with  dew,  I  can  imagine ;  but  my  reader 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  161 

can  do  so  quite  as  well.  The  tripping  of  his  horse 
at  some  clod  in  the  road,  or  the  sprinkle  of  the  dew  in 
his  face  as  the  horse's  foot  struck  some  tall  weed  all 
wet  with  crystal  drops,  caused  not  a  single  gesture  or 
murmur  of  impatience.  His  mind  was  far  ahead  of 
him,  on  the  ground  of  the  duel — and  then  stretched 
far  ahead  of  that,  through  the  long,  dim  vista  of  the 
future,  overshadowed  by  a  cloud  which  was  coining 
on  fast  and  black. 

Colonel  Morton's  party  had  hitched  their  horses 
at  a  beech-.tree  about  forty  yards  north  of  the  chosen 
ground,  and  when  Burruss  saw  that,  he  rode  on,  the 
captain  and  doctor  following,  to  about  an  equal  dis 
tance  beyond  and  dismounted  at  a  wide-spreading 
Spanish  oak,  whose  willowy  limbs  hung  low,  and  after 
they  had  fastened  their  bridles  to  the  pendant  branches 
and  had  adjusted  their  dresses,  somewhat  disordered 
by  the  ride,  they  walked  up  to  near  where  the  other 
party  were  seated,  and  halted ;  Colonel  Stewart  ad 
vanced  to  meet  Captain  White,  who  walked  on  toward 
him,  and  after  a  few  words  they  commenced  to  mark 
off  the  ground.  Captain  White  took  his  stand  at  a 
certain  spot,  which  they  marked  with  a  short  cane, 
and  Colonel  Stewart  stepped  thence  due  north  twenty 
steps,  and  planted  another  piece  of  cane.  Captain 
White  then  stepped  it  off  and  verified  it,  and  they 
went  aside  to  load,  in  the  presence  of  each  other,  each 
his  friend's  weapon. 

Hardly  had  they  finished  that  operation,  when  Bur 
russ — who  was  standing  near  Dr.  Holt  seated  at  the 
root  of  a  tree,  and  had  been  steadily  looking  at  Mor 
ton,  who  was  likewise  standing  up,  but  sideways  to 
14*  L 


102  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

him — suddenly  left  his  position  and   advanced  up  to 
Morton,  who  turned  and  looked  at  him  as  he  said : 

"  Colonel  Morton,  withdraw  your  challenge !" 

"I  will  not,  Mr.  Burruss,"  replied  the  colonel. 

"  Do,  for  God's  sake,  colonel.  I  do  not  wish  to  kill 
you !"  exclaimed  Burruss. 

"  Do  not  be  so  certain  that  you  will  do  that,  Mr. 
Burruss,"  replied  the  colonel,  with  a  cold  smile. 

Just  then  the  seconds,  having  heard  the  conversa 
tion,  advanced,  and  each  took  his  principal  by  the  arm 
and  led  him  to  his  position,  which  had  been  previously 
determined ;  and  when  he  had  delivered  him  his  loaded 
weapon,  stepped  to  a  position  to  one  side  and  about 
midway  the  line  between  them.  Colonel  Stewart  had 
been,  by  lot,  chosen  to  give  the  word,  and  he  asked : 

"Are  you  ready  ?" 

"Ready!"  replied  Colonel  Morton,  raising  his  rifle 
from  his  side. 

"Stop  a  moment!"  said  Mr.  Burruss,  without  mov 
ing;  "I  again  ask  you,  Colonel  Morton,  to  withdraw 
your  challenge. " 

"Such  conduct  is  unheard-of,  sir!  You  have  al 
ready  had  my  answer.  If  you  are  afraid,  I  am  not; 
and  I  will  kill  you  if  I  can!"  exclaimed  Colonel  Mor 
ton,  somewhat  excitedly. 

"Very  well,"  replied  Mr.  Burruss 

After  a  moment's  pause,  Colonel  Stewart  again 
asked,  "Are  you  ready ?"  "Ready!"  answered  both, 
bringing  their  rifles  up  from  their  sides,  and  cocking 

them.     "Fire!  One!  T "     Before  the  word  "  two" 

was   pronounced,  Mr.  Burruss,  who  had   leveled   his 
gun  apparently  with  a  jerk,  so  sudden  was  his  motion, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  163 

fired — and  hardly  had  its  smoke  sped  from  its  muzzle 
when  Colonel  Morton's  rifle  was  also  fired,  and  the 
reports  of  both  went  blended  to  the  echoes  in  the 
forest.  Colonel  Morton,  as  his  gun  went  off,  wilted 
down,  and,  when  his  second  and  surgeon  reached  him, 
one  gasp  of  life  was  all  that  remained — and  with  that 
his  soul  left  his  body.  Burruss  brought  his  rifle  again 
to  an  order,  and  remained  in  his  tracks,  with  his  right 
hand  resting  upon  it.  Captain  White  and  Dr.  Holt 
went  up  to  the  other  party,  and,  as  by  that  time  all 
was  over,  they  only  looked  to  see,  where  Dr.  Cannon 
pointed,  where  the  ball  had  entered, — just  above  the 
left  hip,  fracturing  the  top  of  the  pelvis  and  crashing  on 
through  the  backbone, — and  they  turned,  taking  Bur 
russ  with  them,  and  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  off. 

Though  I  omitted  to  state  it,  General  Archer's  car 
riage  and  quite  a  number  of  the  mutual  friends  of  both 
parties  were  in  the  field,  though  out  of  sight  in  the 
edge  of  the  woods,  and  came  up  on  hearing  the  firing, 
so  that  the  proffered  assistance  of  Captain  White  and 
Dr.  Holt  was  not  needed. 

Such  was  the  course  and  event  of  this  duel,  which 
created  a  great  sensation  all  over  the  country.  All  re 
gretted  it;  but  with  Colonel  Morton's  determination,  it 
could  not  be  averted.  The  seconds,  who  were  both 
gentlemen  in  every  sense,  and  men  who  thoroughly 
understood  their  own  responsibility  to  the  parties  and 
to  the  community,  used  every  means  of  settling  it — 
but  in  vain. 

When  Burruss  rode  off,  the  cloud  had  come  down 
upon  him ;  and  though  his  conscience  could  not  prick 
him, — and  though  he  afterward  married  a  lovely  lady, 


1G4  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

and  had  a  large  family  of  fine  children, — his  high  spirits 
were  gone  ;  and  he  went  his  way  to  the  end,  a  grave, 
sober  citizen,  unwearyingly  charitable  to  the  widow 
and  orphan — particularly  if  their  protector  had  come  to 
a  violent  end. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

^E  of  my  first  profitable  clients  was  old  Captain 
Nesbitt.  And  here  I  would  remark  that  it  must 
not  be  thought  strange  that  I  have  rarely  mentioned  a 
male  character,  so  far,  who  had  not  either  been  a  doc 
tor  or  had  a  military  title.  That  fancy  for  giving  titles 
was  not  peculiar  to  our  section,  but  it  was  certainly 
carried  to  an  excess.  Yet  several  good  reasons  may 
be  given  for  it,  and  among  them,  that  it  saved  a  great 
deal  of  the  trouble  of  remembering  names.  It  is  much 
easier  to  say,  "How  are  you  general?"  than  to  say, 
"How  are  you  Mister  Higginbotham?"  particularly  if 
you  have  only  just  been  introduced  to  him,  and  do  not 
think  you  have  heard  his  right  name  distinctly;  and  it 
is  much  easier  to  remember  that  the  gentleman  ap 
proaching  you  is  a  colonel,  major,  captain,  or  doctor, 
than  to  remember  the  name  he  inherited  from  his 
father. 

Captain  Nesbitt,  then,  was  one  of  my  first  profitable 
clients;  and  I  .remember  the  fact  the  more  distinctly 
that  my  obtaining  a  fee  from  him  was  regarded  by  my 
professional  brethren  as  a  hopeful  sign  of  my  future 
success. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  165 

He  was  an  old  revolutionary  veteran,  who  had 
amassed  a  very  large  estate  by  hard  work,  judicious 
speculations,  always  exacting  what  was  due  him,  and 
never  paying  anything  when  he  could  avoid  it.  The 
consequence  was  that  he  was  always  at  law,  and  had 
been  engaged  at  that  amusement  for  so  many  years 
that  he  never  seemed  contented  unless  he  had  one  or 
two  suits  on  hand.  But  of  late  years  it  had  been  so 
difficult  to  get  a  fee  from  him  that  the  members  of  the 
bar  shunned  his  business.  In  one  particular  case  every 
lawyer  had  been  at  one  time  or  another  engaged,  and 
had  been  discharged  from  it,  or  had  relinquished  it  for 
non-payment  of  fees.  A  term  of  court  was  coming  on 
at  which  a  demurrer  in  the  case  had  to  be  tried,  and  as 
the  old  gentleman  regarded  me  with  favor,  and,  m  ;re 
particularly,  as  for  good  causes  no  other  lawyer  could  be 
got  to  appear  for  him,  he  came  to  my  office,  and  placed 
the  matter  in  my  hands. 

He  began  by  saying  that  he  had  a  case  in  court  of 
such  great  importance  that  if  it  were  ably  handled  it 
would  establish  the  reputation  of  any  lawyer,  and  as 
he  liked  me  he  would  place  it  in  my  hands,  and  it 
would  be  a  splendid  chance  for  me  to  appear  my  best, 
as  I  was  young  and  aspiring;  and  that  he  supposed  I 
would  require  no  fee,  or,  if  any,  a  very  small  one,  under 
the  circumstances.  I  told  him  that  if  he  would  pay 
me  one  hundred  dollars  cash,  as  a  retainer,  I  would 
take  charge  of  his  case.  After  a  great  deal  of  chaffer 
ing,  he  actually  pulled  out  the  money  and  paid  it.  I 
studied  the  case  thoroughly — a  full  hundred  dollars 
worth — but,  alas  for  the  demurrer,  it  had  two  disad 
vantages,  intrinsic  worthlessness,  and  Mr.  Harkness, 


106  LIFE  AND    OPINIONS  OF 

to  contend  against,  and  I  lost  it.  The  captain  was  in 
court  at  the  time,  and  came  up  to  me  hurriedly  and 
told  me  to  move  for  a  rehearing,  and  if  that  were  not 
granted,  to  take  a  Bill  of  Exceptions.  I  answered  him 
that  it  was  useless,  as  the  demurrer  was  untenable.  He 
said  I  must  do  as  he  said.  I  told  him  I  could  not  con 
sent  to  make  myself  ridiculous  by  doing  so;  and  he  dis 
charged  me  from  the  case  on  the  spot.  As  he  had  a 
term  to  answer  over,  he  managed  to  persuade,  or  paid 
cash,  some  other  lawyer;  but  the  case  came  to  an  igno 
minious  defeat  after  living  eight  years. 

Most  of  my  first  cases  were  mere  collection  suits,  but 
the  first  year  of  my  practice  I  made  eight  hundred  dol 
lars.  This  was  doing  very  welf  I  was  told,  but  still 
it  seemed  to  me  a  very  slow  business.  The  second 
year  my  collected  fees  amounted  to  fifteen  hundred 
dollars,  and  it  was  in  the  latter  part  of  this  second 
year,  or  the  very  beginning  of  the  third,  that  the  sew 
ing  society  was  formed,  and  Mary  Mclntyre  first  at 
tracted  my  special  attention. 

When  Mary  became  so  dear  to  me,  I,  of  course, 
began  to  take  great  interest  in  her  family,  to  study 
their  dispositions,  and  to  calculate  what  would  be  my 
chances  among  them  for  opposition  or  assistance  in  rny 
suit. 

Mr.  Mclntyre  was  a  tall  and  large  Scotchman,  about 
fifty  years  of  age,  with  a  heavy  suit  of  sandy  hair  and 
sandy  whiskers  well  sprinkled  with  gray,  keen  blue 
eyes,  and  a  large,  florid  countenance.  He  was  by  no 
means  an  ugly  man,  but  was  rough,  and  a  little  gruff 
at  times,  when  he  would  "dawm  !"  and  storm  at  every 
thing  in  reach.  He  was  highly  esteemed  as  an  honest, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  10 1 

sensible  man,  who  was  already  rich,  and  would  be  very 
wealthy  if  he  lived  a  few  years.  The  peculiarities  I 
noticed  most  particularly  about  him  were,  his  reticence 
about  his  own  affairs,  and  his  never  interfering  with 
his  wife  and  daughters  in  their  dress,  their  outgoings 
and  incomings,  their  company,  church-matters,  or 
preacher-blindness. 

He  had  a  profound  respect  for  his  wife,  who  was  a 
second  cousin  of  Mrs.  Ruggles,  and  had  been  a  dark- 
haired  beauty  in  her  youth.  She  was  an  excellent 
woman,  of  more  than  average  piety,  though  her  relig 
ion  was  of  that  character  which  fears  to  differ  with 
church  authority.  As  a  wife,  she  was  respectful,  and 
was  allowed  to  have  her  own  way  in  her  domestic  con 
cerns.  As  a  mother,  she  was  tender,  judicious,  and 
firm — except  with  Mary,  the  youngest,  who  could 
wheedle  her  to  do  as  she  pleased.  As  a  friend,  she 
was  undemonstrative,  and  rather  taciturn,  but  never 
wanting  in  the  offices  of  friendship. 

Of  the  two  eldest  daughters,  Sarah,  the  elder,  was 
tall,  had  black  eyes  and  hair,  a  fine  figure,  delicate  hands 
and  feet,  and,  to  strangers,  seemed  haughty.  Lucy 
was  more  like  her  father  in  appearance,  had  fair  hair, 
blue  eyes,  and  a  fine  complexion,  though  somewhat 
freckled,  and  was  a  very  sweet  girl  in  her  disposition. 
Both  of  them  were  intelligent,  refined,  and  good,  and 
treated  with  profound  deference  whatever  their  mother 
believed  in.  At  the  time  I  am  speaking  of,  Miss  Sarah 
had  as  an  aspirant  the  Rev.  Walter  Hopkins,  a  slender 
young  minister  who  had  strayed  South  for  the  cure  of 
the  Preacher's  sore-throat,  or  to  have  the  disease  con 
firmed  by  marrying  comfortably.  He  was  a  funny  gen- 


168  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

tleman,  who  evidently  thought  he  could  pun  and  pray 
himself  into  Miss  Sarah's  good  graces.  But,  though 
she  had  every  reason  to  believe  (as  I  still  believe)  that 
he  was  at  heart  a  good  man,  and  would  have  made  an 
indulgent  husband,  and  though  her  mother  was  not  at 
all  opposed  to  the  match,  and  though  she  could  laugh 
heartily  at  his  puns  and  jokes,  she  had  already  refused 
him  several  times,  and  it  was  becoming  a  habit,  and 
almost  a  joke,  for  him  to  pop  the  question  about  every 
three  months,  and  be  refused. 

Miss  Lucy's  lover,  Tom  Merri weather,  to  whom  she 
was  already  engaged,  was  a  heavy-set  young  planter, 
with  a  frank,  handsome  countenance,  and  a  genial  smile, 
but  very  much  out  of  place  among  ladies,  and  particu 
larly  uncomfortable  when  Mr.  Hopkins  was  along  with 
his  gay  gambols  of  wit  and  words.  He  would  sit  in 
the  parlor  bolt  upright  for  a  half  hour  at  a  time,  and 
never  utter  a  word  unless  spoken  to.  How  he  ever  did 
his  courting  was  more  than  I  knew,  though  I  suspected 
that  when  he  and  Miss  Lucy  got  off  to  themselves  he 
fully  made  up  for  his  awkward  silence  and  shame-faced- 
ness  in  company.  At  any  rate,  she  treated  him  as 
though  she  understood  him  thoroughly,  and  he  was 
already  quite  as  domestic  an  animal  as  the  house  cat, 
came  and  went  unquestioned,  and  was  sometimes  petted 
when  his  chosen  could  slyly  place  her  hand  on  his  head, 
or  pat  his  cheek. 

These,  with  Miss  Maiy,  were  all  the  family,  for  the 
only  son,  the  old  man's  pride,  had  died  about  three 
years  before. 

No  gambler  ever  calculated  his  chances  more  nar 
rowly  and  earnestly  than  I  did,  so  far  as  the  influences 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  169 

of  these  elder  and  beloved  ones  were  concerned.  Every 
day  I  would  take  apart  and  put  together  again  with 
fresh  complications,  my  grounds  for  fear  and  hope.  I 
had  no  fear  of  the  old  gentleman,  for  although  I  had  no 
special  acquaintance  with  him,  I  knew  that  so  far  as 
family,  morals,  and  prospects  were  concerned  he  could 
not  object  to  me,  and  that  Mary  was  his  darling  to 
whom  he  would  grant  anything  which  might  contribute 
to  her  happiness.  I  even  hoped  that  he  might  speak 
favorably  of  me  as  a  fine  young  man,  if  nothing  more, 
some  day  when  by  chance  my  name  was  mentioned  in. 
the  family. 

With  regard  to  Mrs.  Mclntyre  I  had  some  assurance 
of  hope,  for  although  I  was  no  preacher  nor  the  son  of 
a  preacher,  I  was  raised  in  the  church — of  which  I  was 
a  sort  of  floating  member — and  my  father  was  more 
learned  in  matters  religious  and  ecclesiastical,  and  even 
more  certainly  pious  than  most  preachers,  and  was  an 
influential  member  of  her  own  church.  I  felt  certain 
that  she  would  say  nothing  against  me,  and  would 
allow  Mary  to  love  me  or  not,  as  she  might  choose. 

But  I  was  afraid  of  the  elder  sisters,  and  of  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Hopkins — not  that  they  would  work  against  me 
purposely,  but  that  they  might  find  the  weak  part  of 
my  armor  and  turn  me  into  ridicule  before  Mary.  The 
weak  part  of  my  armor  was  my  sensitiveness,  which  was 
acute  at  all  times,  and,  when  in  love,  was  almost  mor 
bid.  Though  my  head  is  gray  and  I  am  beginning  to 
totter  when  I  walk,  I  am  yet  afraid  of  the  laughter  of 
girls  unless  I  know  exactly  what  it  is  about,  and  if  I 
hear  it  when  my  back  is  turned  I  instinctively  fear  it 
is  directed  to  me. 

15 


170  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

All  these  calculations  of  mine  were  preparatory  to 
the  assault  I  was  about  to  make ;  for  my  fair  and  be 
loved  enemy,  as  Don  Quixotte  termed  his  lady-love, 
had  as  yet  no  idea  that  my  ambitious  and  avaricious 
eyes  were  directed  to  the  citadel  of  her  affections.  But 
the  deployment  of  my  forces  and  my  cautious  advance, 
under  cover,  when  it  could  be  so,  soon  revealed  to  her 
my  design,  and  she  began  to  call  in  the  pleasure  par 
ties  of  friendly  wit  and  mirthful  smiles  which  had  been 
in  innocent  security  disporting  themselves  before  my 
covetous  eyes,  and  to  sometimes  hang  out  the  crimson 
banner  of  her  modest  blushes,  which  when  I  saw  my 
soul  rejoiced  at,  for  I  knew  it  was  the  signal  of  alarm 
in  the  fortress.  But  beyond  this  there  were  no  signs 
that  I  could  detect  of  consciousness  or  of  fear  of  the 
impending  storm. 

Sometimes  in  my  company  she  was  thoughtful;  often 
just  as  frank  and  gay  as  she  ever  was  before  ;  sometimes 
she  seemed  to  avoid  me  with  perhaps  a  little  scorn,  as 
I  thought,  in  her  regard.  How  anxiously  I  scanned 
each  look  and  syllable !  From  her  thoughtfulness  I 
augured  well ;  her  gayety  forboded  ill  to  me ;  and  her 
avoiding  me  I  interpreted  well  or  ill,  according  to  my 
mood.  It  might  be  that  she  was  determined  to  drive 
me  away  from  her,  and  then,  again,  it  might  be  that 
she  had  discovered  and  wished  to  conceal  the  weakness 
of  her  defense.  And  often  when  in  my  ambition  I  im 
agined  I  was  so  blessed,  as  I  thought  of  bringing  my  fate 
to  the  test,  my  hands  grew  cold,  and  I  was  seized  with 
trembling,  and  as  I  sat  alone  in  my  room  with  my  eyes 
shut,  and  niy  head  bent  down,  I  made  in  my  imagina 
tion  the  most  beautiful  speeches,  and  received  the  most 


ABRAHAM   PAGE,  ESQ.  171 

loving  answers.  With  what  rapture  did  I  dwell  upon 
each  imagined  sigh,  each  gentle  tear!  I  sometimes 
even  felt  the  warm  embrace  of  her  soft  arms  around 
my  neck,  and  had  her  head  pillowed  fondly  on  my 
breast.  I  made  myself  a  great  name  for  my  Mary, 
toiled  on  to  wealth,  and  in  our  old  age  looked  upon  her 
wrinkled  brow  and  gray  hairs  with  tender  love,  and 
thanked  God  for  all  his  mercies. 

More  than  that,  my  imagination  would  become  in 
toxicated  and  crown  itself  with  love,  clothe  itself  with 
rapture  as  a  garment,  and  with  the  scepter  of  hope  in 
hand  would  stalk  through  the  future  a  glorious  monarch 
to  whom  possibilities  and  probabilities  were  alike  sub 
ject,  and  create  for  me  the  most  cherubic  children 
which  were  to  be  brought  without  fear,  and  pain,  and 
danger,  to  make  us  happy. 

There  were  always  two  of  them,  David  and  Juliet, 
and  with  the  two  I  was  content.  Juliet,  with  the  large 
hazel  eyes  and  dark  curls,  with  the  pearly  teeth  and 
balmy  breath,  with  her  baby-talk  and  animated  smile, 
standing  in  my  lap  with  one  dimpled  hand  patting  my 
cheek  and  the  other  thrown  around  my  neck,  loving 
me  with  love  inexpressible ;  and  David,  the  precious 
little  humbug,  as  his  father  was  before  him,  always 
finding  something  wonderful  as  he  paraded  around  in 
his  first  boots — David,  to  whom  every  sparrow  was  as 
large  as  an  eagle,  and  every  rat  a  wild-cat  at  least,  who 
frightened  his  little  sister  with  stories  of  snakes  and 
Indians,  whose  brain  was  teeming  with  imagination 
and  wonder  and  curiosity,  whose  little  heart  was  brim 
ful  of  affection  and  sensitiveness.  I  could  see  him  at 
tending,  with  all  the  irnpressiveness  and  gallantry  of 


172  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

one  of  his  most  courtly  ancestors,  his  little  sweetheart, 
the  daughter  of  my  neighbor.  And  see  Juliet,  with 
her  tin)r  shoes  neatly  laced  to  her  delicate  round  ankles, 
and  her  little  stockings  held  up  by  pink-silk  garters, 
and  her  short  lace  pantalets,  and  blue  gown  with 
white  sprigs  in  it,  and  broad-brimmed  hat,  holding  her 
mother  by  the  hand  as  they  went  from  church,  and 
looking  at  Davy,  who  walked  ahead  of  her,  with  as 
much  serious  confidence  in  his  abilities  and  worth,  his 
bravery  and  honor,  as  though  she  were  eighteen  and 
he  twenty-one.  How  I  nursed  those  children  in  their 
infancy,  played  with  them  when  well,  and  walked  the 
room  with  them  almost  the  live- long  night  Avhen  they 
were  fretful.  I  guarded  with  the  most  vigilant  anxiety 
their  traits  of  character  as  they  were  developed  ;  and 
both  grew  up  comely,  and  intelligent,  and  virtuous.  I 
directed  their  studies.  Juliet  married  happily,  and  I 
trotted  grandchildren  on  my  knees.  David  rose  to  dis 
tinction,  and  I  rejoiced  that  when  I  died  I  would  leave 
some  one  like  me,  but  a  great  deal  more  intelligent  and 
noble  than  I  in  my  youth,  to  take  my  place  and  pro 
tect  his  dear  old  mother. 

All  this  was  the  frenzy  of  a  young  and  ardent  lover 
whose  imagination  toyed  with  his  judgment  as  a  play 
thing.  Yet  there  is  no  sweeter  madness,  and  as  I 
recall  it — for  my  imagination  can  never  grow  forgetful 
— feelings  of  bitterness  will  intrude  themselves  that  my 
scepter  of  earthly  hope  is  broken.  But  though  I  be  old, 
and  fading  like  a  leaf  soon  to  fall,  in  looking  back  I 
find  nothing  to  regret  of  all  the  joys  of  my  life.  The 
past  is  past,  and  I  would  not  live  it  over  again  if  I  could. 
I  would  not  have  Mary  alive  to  die  again,  nor  have  my 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  173 

father  again  at  his  toil,  nor  my  mother  to  feel  again 
her  pain  in  giving  life  to  her  children,  and  her  agony  at 
seeing  them  die.  I  would  not  recall  again  my  brothers 
and  sisters  and  friends  to  hope  and  suffer,  to  rejoice 
and  be  shrouded  and  buried  again.  Nor  do  I  regret 
that  they  lived,  nor,  though  the  silent  tears  roll  down 
my  withered  cheeks,  regret  that  they  died.  All  my 
appointed  time  shall  I  live  to  thank  God  for  his  good 
ness  in  giving  me  so  many  to  love,  so  many  for  whose 
love  I  have  only  loving  thoughts,  for  whose  lives  I 
have  no  regrets  ;  and  when  my  time  to  die  shall  come, 
if  my  mind  be  free  of  confusion  or  of  sleep,  I  shall 
still  be  certain  that  I  shall  live,  and  love,  and  be  loved 
by  them  again  where  there  is  no  sorrow  and  no  parting. 

The  happiness  of  my  life  is  now  in  the  past  and  with 
the  future,  but  at  the  time  of  which  I  write  it  was  in 
the  present  as  it  was  and  as  I  wished  it  to  be.  Surely 
no  heart  could  be  more  troubled  with  its  love  than 
mine  was.  Disquiet  seemed  to  have  seized  me ;  and, 
like  a  blind  man  who  has  just  received  sight,  I  found 
things  that  were  upright  all  awry  or  upside  down,  and 
obstacles  in  my  path  that  did  not  exist,  or  were  really 
too  remote  from  it  to  impede  me. 

Except  for  the  excitement  of  a  pleasant  visit,  to  go 
to  Mr.  Mclntyre's  had  never  been  with  me  a  matter  of 
any  moment,  and  I  had  often  gone  alone,  or  with  my 
sisters,  in  the  most  natural  way  in  the  world.  But  now 
I  was  troubled  to  find  an  excuse  forgoing  there.  What 
should  I  say  I  came  for?  It  would  hardly  do  to 
call  and  say  I  came  to  see  Miss  Mary,  and  yet  when 
I  should  see  the  ladies  in  the  parlor,  it  would  be  to  ex- 
}t:>se  mo  to  suspicion  if  I  had  no  other  excuse  than  to 
15* 


174  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

say  that,  as  I  was  riding  out,  I  thought  I  would  call ; 
for  though  the  distance  was  only  six  miles,  and  was  a 
pleasant  ride,  it  was  too  far  for  the  mere  afternoon  or 
morning  ride  for  pleasure  of  a  man  who  had  his  office 
and  business  to  attend  to.  And  even  if  the  first  visit 
should  pass  off  unremarked,  the  second,  or  third,  or 
fourth  would  inevitably  beti'ay  me  as  Miss  Mary's 
beau  to  the  wondering  smiles  of  Miss  Sarah,  and  the 
snickering  puns  and  jokes  of  Mr.  Hopkins — not  that  I 
would  have  cared  so  much  for  myself,  though  the  po 
sition  was  awkward,  but  it  might  be  disagreeable  to 
Mary ;  and  Hopkins  was  such  a  confounded  fool  that 
he  never  knew  when  to  stop. 

What  should  I  do  ?  To  wait  for  a  special  invitation 
would  be  to  wait  six  months,  till  Miss  Lucy  and  Tom 
Merriweather  were  married — and  I  might  almost  as 
well  have  consented  to  content  myself  with  six  years. 
I  must  go  on  that  general  invitation  I  had  by  right  of 
birth  and  friendship,  and  how  to  do  that  and  save  ap 
pearances  annoyed  me  for  several  weeks.  My  sister 
Bel  was  inexorable,  and  Julia  would  put  forth  no 
hand.  "Why  should  we  go  with  you?"  said  Bel. 
"We  see  Mary  every  week  at  church,  and  at  the  Sew 
ing  Society;  and  we  know  that  Lucy  has  not  com 
menced  to  prepare  for  her  wedding,  and  does  not  need 
our  assistance.  And  even  if  we  should  go  with  you 
once,  don't  you  see,  goosey,  that  you  would  be,  for 
your  next  visit,  just  as  embarrassed  ?  We  love  Mary, 
and  would  be  glad  to  have  her  for  a  sister ;  but  you 
must  do  your  own  courting,  Master  Abraham.  We 
will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  but  to  wish  you  suc 
cess." 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  175 

"Yes,  but  you  dear  little  sisters — how  I  do  love  you! 
— you  might  go  with  me  just  once,  to  open  the  way,  as 
it  were, — as  Mrs.  Snow  says, — and  then  may  be  some 
thing  will  turn  up  by  which  I  can  go  again  without 
suspicion  " 

"No,  sir,"  said  Miss  Bel.  "We  will  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  Do  you  suppose  that  they  do  not  all 
know  you  are  in  love  with  Mary  ?  What  do  you  think 
they  have  been  doing  with  their  eyes  and  ears  for  the 
last  three  months  that  you  have  been  paying  what  you 
call  your  modest,  unobtrusive  attentions  to  Mary? 
going  always  at  her  side,  directing  your  conversation 
to  her  as  though  there  were  no  one  else  in  the  world, 
being  silent  and  uneasy  when  she  goes  out,  and  bright 
ening  up  when  she  comes  in  ?  Why,  Mrs.  Snow 
laughed,  and  told  Mary  she  had  caught  a  beau  at  the 
third  meeting  of  the  Society " 

"  Confound  Mrs.  Snow  and  her  sharp  eyes  and  long 
tongue!"  I  commenced,  impatiently.  "But  say,  little 
sister,  what  did  Mary  answer  and  how  did  she  look?" 

"Oh,  ho!"  replied  my  sister.  "Then  Mrs.  Snow's 
sharp  eyes  and  long  tongue  may  have  done  you  a 
service,  you  think?  Well,  Mary  did  not  answer  at  all, 
nor  did  she  blush;  but  she  sat  silent,  and  turned  a 
little  pale  " 

"  Heaven  bless  Mrs.  Snow,  for  once!  But  I  do  hope 
she  will  not  keep  up  her  observations  and  remarks," 
was  my  reply. 

But  Mrs.  Snow  did  keep  up  her  observations,  and 
her  remarks  were,  I  learned,  made  not  only  to  Mary, 
but  to  her  mother  and  sisters,  and  to  my  mother  and 
sisters,  and,  for  aught  I  know,  to  the  whole  county. 


1VG  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

Hang-  the  woman  !  She  seemed  to  think  that  my 
courting  Mary  Mclntyre  was  a  church  matter,  to  be 
talked  over  in  session  and  meeting,  to  be  discussed 
with  elders  and  ministers,  and  regulated  by  church  dis 
cipline.  Mary  was  a  rather  too  precious  and  profitable 
lamb  to  be  handed  over  out  of  the  fold  of  the  ministry, 
or,  at  any  rate,  to  a  willful  limb  of  the  law  like  Abra 
ham  Page,  who  would  be  pretty  apt  to  rule  his  own 
house  in  his  own  way.  But  if  poor  Hopkins  would 
give  up  his  vain  pursuit  of  Sarah,  and  try  and  capture 
Mary,  with  what  ardor  would  she  not  have  assisted 
his  plans !  It  came  to  niy  ears  that  she  had  so  ad 
vised  the  man,  but  he  had  sense  enough  to  know  that 
Mary  did  not  like  to  be  bothered — at  any  rate,  more 
than  once. 

The  fact  is  that  Mrs.  Snow  did  not  more  than  half  like 
me.  She  thought  me  rather  an  irreverent  stripling; 
first,  because  she  had  heard  that  I  had  condemned  her 
husband's  sermons  for  their  length,  and,  secondly,  on 
account  of  an  answer  I  once  made  her.  I  had  been 
absent  from  home  about  four  weeks  attending  the  cir 
cuit,  and  a  day  or  two  after  I  returned  I  found  her  at 
old  Mrs.  Diggory's,  upon  whom  I  had  called  to  pay 
my  respects.  She  seemed  rather  dignified,  and  pres 
ently  told  me  that  she  was  surprised  to  see  I  had  called 
on  Mrs.  Diggory  before  I  had  upon  Mr.  Snow.  I  told 
her  I  thought  my  visit  to  Mrs.  Diggory,  who  had  taught 
me  to  read,  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 
"Yes,"  said  Mrs., Snow,  "but  you  owe  a  superior  duty 
to  your  Pastor !"  The  tone  and  assumption  so  irritated 
me  that  it  was  on  my  lips  to  say,  "The  devil  I  do!" 
but  I  restrained  myself,  and  told  her  that  I  could  not 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  17T 

recognize  the  obligation — and  so  the  matter  ended. 
But  it  put  a  little  black  spot  in  Mrs.  Snow's  heart,  and 
she  recalled  to  mind  and  magnified  a  very  natural  in 
cident  which  had  occurred  to  me  about  six  years  before, 
and  which  every  one  else,  even  I  myself,  had  forgotten. 

I  had  attended  a  large  party  at  Colonel  Stewart's, 
and  between  the  dancing,  and  the  champagne,  and 
sherry  at  the  supper,  I  was  in  a  pleasantly  jolly  mood 
when  I  went  out  with  four  or  five  others  to  mount  our 
horses  and  go  home.  I  had,  no  doubt,  been  talking 
rather  more  glibly  than  usual  to  the  young  ladies  in 
the  dancing-room,  and  it  had  been  noticed  by  some  who 
were  willing  to  get  a  joke  on  "  sober-sides,"  as  they 
called  me,  and  when  I  had  found  my  way  in  the  dark 
to  my  horse,  I  found  that  some  one  had,  as  I  thought, 
removed  my  left  stirrup,  and  I  hailed  my  neighbor  in 
a  pretty  loud  tone,  and  told  him  of  the  fact ;  but  upon 
feeling  I  found  that  the  stirrup  had  only  been  crossed 
over  the  seat  of  the  saddle,  and  I  mounted  and  we  rode 
on  without  further  incident.  The  next  day  I  heard 
that  I  had  been  too  drunk  to  distinguish  my  horse. 
Others  said  that  when  he  was  brought  to  me  I  mounted 
with  my  head  to  his  tail ;  others,  still,  said  that  about 
two  hours  after  I  had  left  the  house,  two  gentlemen 
were  driving  into  town,  and  met  me  going  toward 
Colonel  Stewart's,  and  that  I  told  them  I  was  going 
home  but  had  been  riding  for  hours  in  the  dark  to  find 
it,  and  was  lost. 

Mrs.  Snow  had  got  hold  of  this  story  with  all  its 
variations,  and  had  argued  that  where  there  was  so 
much  smoke  there  must  be  some  fire — a  favorite  way 
of  destroying  reputation  effectually  and  without  appeal 

M 


178  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

— and  that  I  must,  at  all  events,  have  been  very  drunk ; 
and  though  it  happened  when  Mary  was  only  eleven 
or  twelve  years  old,  and  though  if  it  had  been  true,  the 
offense  had  never  been  repeated,  she  referred  to  it,  and 
expressed  her  fears  that  I  was  inclined  by  nature  to 
intemperance,  but  she  would  hope  for  the  best,  and  dear 
Mary  must  not  place  her  confidence  in  the  morality  of 
this  world,  or  in  human  strength,  etc.  etc.  etc.  — just 
what  Mrs.  Snow  would  say  upon  such  an  occasion,  and 
with  such  an  object. 

For  all  this  I  was  afraid  of  Mrs.  Snow;  but  my  fear 
of  her  was  as  nothing  to  compare  with  the  dread  I  had 
of  Mrs.  Ruggles,  who,  as  a  relative,  would  naturally 
have  a  much  greater  influence. 

Mrs.  Ruggles  was  what  was  termed  in  our  part  of 
the  world,  a  smart  woman.  What  I  have  heretofore 
said  of  her  v/ill  give  a  pretty  good  idea  of  her  char 
acter,  though  not  of  her  habits  and  customs.  She  was 
a  notable  housekeeper,  and  had  her  servants  in  excellent 
training,  both  to  do  their  work  well,  and  to  make 
speedy  and  correct  reports  of  whatever  they  saw 
or  heard  of  the  neighbors'  sayings  and  doings.  Not 
only  so,  but  not  a  servant  or  child  could  visit  her  house 
but  she  would  in  a  few  minutes  got  the  most  precise 
information  of  what  was  going  on  and  being  said  on 
any  subject  in  their  respective  houses,  and  even  of  how 
they  lived.  The  consequence  was  that  Mrs.  Ruggles 
was  a  self-constituted  depot  for  all  the  scandal,  and 
trouble,  hopes  and  fears  and  arrangements  and  inten 
tions  of  the  people  of  the  town,  and,  as  far  as  possible, 
of  the  county  also.  It  used  to  seem  to  me  that  she 
had  a  spy  at  the  little  market-house  to  report  what  each 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  179 

purchased  for  dinner,  for  she  asked  me  one  day,  when 
1  was  a  very  small  boy,  how  I  liked  cow-heel;  and  I 
know  we  had  had  some  the  day  before. 

But  when  Mrs.  Ruggles  made  a  discovery  she  did 
not  go  blabbing  it  about  over  the  country.  She  kept 
it  to  herself,  made  her  reflections  upon  it,  and  imparted 
it  to  others,  or  intimated  to  the  person  concerned  that 
she  knew  it,  only  when  it  would  subserve  some  object 
she  had  in  view. 

Her  son  Stanley  was,  as  I  have  said,  in  the  com 
mercial  line ;  and  he  dressed  more  finely  than  would 
have  become  any  other  young  man  I  ever  saw,  but  he 
was  a  "young  buck"  who,  adorned  or  unadorned,  was 
always  handsome.  It  had  been  the  dearest  wish  of  his 
mother's  heart  to  see  him  married  to  one  of  her  second- 
cousin's  daughters,  but  he  had  hung  back  from  Sarah's 
dignity,  had  been  cut  out  from  Lucy  by  Tom  Merri- 
weather,  and  now  was  being  urged  by  his  mother  to 
try  his  chance  with  Mary — particularly  as  I  might  be 
thwarted  in  that  quarter  by  his  success.  I  will  do  Master 
Stanley  the  justice  to  say  that  he  behaved  very  well,  and 
when  he  found  that  he  had  no  hope,  and  that  I  was 
too  seriously  concerned  to  put  up  with  nonsense  or  un 
derhanded  interference  by  a  man,  he  remained  per 
fectly  neutral,  and  tried  to  gut  his  mother  to  do  so. 
She  knew  that  her  attempts  to  thwart  me  must  be  indi 
rect  and  covert,  for  it  was  of  material  service  to  her 
comfort  that  she  should  be  on  good  terms  with  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Page,  who  were  very  kind  and  useful  in  sickness 
and  trouble,  of  which  she  and  hers  had  a  full  share. 
So  she  would  talk  at  Mr.  Mclntyre's  of  how  poor  so 
good  a  family  as  ours  was,  and  to  what  straits  they 


180  MFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

should  be  driven  if  the  doctor  were  to  die.  "  Abra 
ham,"  she  would  say,  "would  in  that  case  have  to  sup 
port  them  all,  and  though  the  girls  and  Mrs.  Page  are 
economical,  the  two  boys  have  to  be  sent  to  school,  and 
he  would  find  his  hands  as  full  as  they  could  be  all  his 
life."  If  Mrs.  Mclntyre  should  reply  that  she  hoped 
it  would  be  very  many  years  before  the  doctor  was 
taken  away,  the  good  lady  would  be  ready  to  say  that 
life  was  very  uncertain,  and  that  the  doctor  was  very 
much  exposed  to  disease,  and  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
nature  it  was  to  be  expected  that  Abraham  would  have 
to  provide  for  the  family. 

My  darling  wife  told  me  afterward  of  these  conver 
sations,  and  she  said  that  when  she  thought  of  the  pos 
sibility  of  my  having  such  a  burden  upon  me,  her  heart 
warmed  with  the  desire  to  assist  me  by  her  means,  and 
comfort  me  in  my  labor  and  trials. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"OW  to  get  to  pay  a  visit  to  Mr.  Mclntyre's  with 
out  an  express  invitation,  or  the  excuse  of  busi 
ness,  was  a  great  embarrassment,  but  I  at  last  hit  upon 
a  plan  to  overcome  the  difficulty.  The  next  sewing 
society  day  I  found  that  the  two  elder  young  ladies 
had  come  into  town  early,  and  were  in  Mr.  Young- 
blood's  store  shopping.  I  went  in  there,  as  though 
upon  business,  was  of  course  surprised  and  gratified 
to  see  them,  and  soon  entered  into  conversation.  After 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  181 

a  little,  I  told  Miss  Lucy  that  I  understood  there  was 
good  fishing  in  Baker's  Creek,  back  of  her  father's  field. 
She  said  she  had  not  heard  of  it,  but  supposed  it  might 
be  so.  "Oh,  yes,"  said  I,  "it  is  so,  and  I  have  a  mind 
to  try  it  in  a  day  or  two,  and  will  be  able  to  report 
fully  upon  the  subject."  My  cheeks  burned,  and  my 
eye  wandered  everywhere  but  to  her  face  as  I  said  this, 
for  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  ruse  was  so  evident  she 
would  see  through  it  at  once  ;  and  I  have  little  doubt 
but  that  she  did  understand  it,  for  she  said  she  sup 
posed  they  would  see  me  when  I  came  out,  and  they 
would  be  very  happy  to  do  so.  I  had  indeed  heard 
that  there  were  two  or  three  tolerably  good  perch  holes 
in  the  creek,  but  I  cared  no  more  for  fishing  than  I 
did  for  hunting  phoenixes. 

The  trouble  was  over,  and  I  felt  great  relief  and 
lightness  of  spirits.  I  impatiently  fixed  my  visit,  in 
my  own  mind,  for  the  next  day  but  one,  but  on  that 
day  it  rained.  On  the  following  day,  however,  it  was 
fair,  and  though  I  knew  the  creek  was  muddy,  and 
catching  fish  almost  impossible,  I  mounted  my  horse, 
and  with  fishing  rod  in  hand  started,  about  two  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  expecting  to  try  the  creek,  for  the  sake 
of  appearances,  and  then  to  make  a  good  long  visit,  and 
ride  home  by  moonlight.  For  a  wonder,  my  programme 
was  carried  out  to  the  letter;  I  caught  no  fish,  but 
passed  a  most  delightful  evening.  Even  Hopkins,  who 
was  there,  made  himself  agreeable,  and  Miss  Mary's 
quiet  attempts  at  nonchalance  and  unconsciousness  be 
fore  her  sisters,  who  evidently  were  highly  amused  at 
this  first  declaratory  visit  of  her  beau,  did  not  annoy 
me  in  the  least.  The  muddy  water  was  a  fair  excuse 
16 


182  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

for  coming  again  to  try  it  when  it  should  be  clean,  and 
I  appointed  the  next  Wednesday  (it  was  then  Satur 
day)  as  a  day  certain  when  I  would  come.  "  But  sup 
pose,"  said  Miss  Sarah  mischievously,  "that  it  should 
rain  on  Tuesday — the  creek  will  be  muddy  again." 
"Never  mind,  Miss  Sarah,"  I  answered,  "I  will  come 
and  see."  And  I  rode  home  happy. 

And  so  I  did  go  and  see,  and  found  an  excuse  to 
go  again  at  an  early  day ;  and  when  my  visits,  though 
always  on  some  particular  excuse,  became  so  frequent 
that  Hopkins,  who  was  there  nearly  every  day,  began 
to  perceive  their  design,  he  began  to  be  witty  and  most 
thoroughly  disagreeable.  I  fairly  hated  him,  and  but 
that  he  was  a  non-combatant,  would  sometimes  have 
insulted  him. 

He  was  not  the  only  fool  of  his  peculiar  kind  I  have 
ever  seen.  He  had  a  large  amount  of  solid  learning, 
both  civil  and  ecclesiastical,  had  studied  hard  with 
many  advantages,  was  quite  a  musician,  and  often 
really  witty,  and  yet,  with  all  his  learning,  and  polish, 
and  intellect,  he  was  totally  lacking  in  dignity.  A  vol 
atile  demon  seemed  to  possess  him,  and  neither  time, 
nor  place,  nor  occasion  could  restrain  it.  He  would 
whisper  a  pun  at  a  funeral,  and  look  one  in  a  sermon. 

My  visits  had  not  been  very  numerous,  however, 
when  I  was  called  away  from  home  by  business  which 
detained  me  nearly  two  months.  The  lands  in  Ala 
bama,  which  State  was  now  being  settled  very  fast, 
were  a  source  of  wild  speculation  such  as  I  have  never 
since  seen.  The  land  excitement  now  going  on  in  Min 
nesota  and  the  far  northwest  may  be  a  parallel,  but 
hardly  its  equal.  A  company  of  planters  who  had 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  183 

made  large  purchases  of  adjoining  lands  from  specula 
tors,  and  who  intended  removing  a  portion  of  their  ne 
groes  upon  them  early  in  the  next  winter,  for  the  pur 
pose  of  opening  plantations,  solicited  me  to  go  and 
locate  their  places  precisely  by  having  them  surve3red 
and  marked  out.  As  after  the  spring  term  of  court  was 
over  there  would  be  little  law  business  until  the  fall 
term  approached  near,  and  as  the  amount  to  be  paid 
me  was  considerable,  and,  besides,  as  I  was  young  and 
adventurous,  I  consented  to  go  so  soon  as  the  weather 
and  my  business  permitted. 

It  was  now  early  in  June,  the  heavy  spring  rains 
were  over,  and  I  made  my  preparations  and  started 
on  horseback.  A  pair  of  saddle-bags  contained  my 
clothing  and  papers,  and  a  bag  of  heavy  homespun  cot 
ton  cloth  was  across  my  saddle,  to  be  used  for  carrying 
provisions  for  myself  and  horse  when  I  should  get  to 
the  wild  country  where  settlements  were  far  apart.  A 
quart  tin-cup,  a  small  frying-pan,  and  rny  rifle  completed 
my  outfit.  My  horse  was  a  cross  between  the  Indian 
pony  and  the  old  "  Black  Creek  "  breed,  and  was  hardy, 
docile,  and  strong.  His  name  was  Bango  ;  his  color 
a  rusty  dun.  He  had  a  fashion  of  traveling  with  one 
ear  pointed  forward  and  the  other  pointed  back,  and  to 
rest  the  muscles,  he  would  sometimes  change  ears.  His 
gait  was  easy,  but  indescribable  by  any  word  or  words 
in  the  jockey  language.  It  was  neither  a  rack,  pace,  nor 
gallop ;  but  as  he  held  his  neck  sideways,  as  though  he 
thought  it  all  fine  and  himself  handsome,  and  put  it 
down  in  a  leisurely  and  earnest  style  in  all  those  gaits 
at  once,  he  was  as  affected  a  piece  of  serviceable  and 
comical  ugliness  as  you  shall  ever  see. 


184  MFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

My  parting  with  Miss  Mary,  or,  as  I  had  then  got  to 
calling  her,  Little  Lady,  the  evening  before  was  such 
as  would,  at  least,  not  weigh  upon  my  spirits  while  I 
was  gone.  She  was  embroidering  a  pair  of  slippers, 
which  I  had  good  reason  to  hope  wei'e  for  me,  though 
she  would  not  acknowledge  it  (I  have  them  yet  among 
my  treasures),  and  manifested  a  concern  about  the  ex 
posures  and  dangers  of  my  journey,  which,  though  very 
maidenly  and  quiet,  showed  that  she  took  some  interest 
in  it. 

It  was  necessary  for  me  to  pass  through  Rosstown, 
and  remain  there  two  days  for  some  papers  I  had  to 
use,  to  be  completed  and  signed.  Fitzroy  wished  me 
to  stay  at  his  house,  but  I'  preferred,  as  I  always  do, 
my  liberty  at  the  tavern.  To  be  intruding  on  a  family 
when  there  is  public  accommodation  convenient,  I  have 
always  thought  very  selfish,  and,  unless  under  peculiar 
circumstances,  I  have  never  done  so  yet.  Even  had  I 
been  inclined  to  accede  to  my  cousin's  invitation,  it 
would  have  been  perhaps  a  little  embarrassing  under 
the  circumstances.  He  had  but  recently  got  married, 
and  had  just  commenced  housekeeping,  and  I  neither 
knew  his  wife  nor  the  quality  nor  capacity  of  his  do 
mestic  arrangements,  and,  besides,  this  thing  of  being 
alone  in  a  house  with  a  young  married  couple  is  never 
pleasant. 

Fitzroy  had  now  been  practicing  law  nearly  five 
years.  My  Uncle  James,  who  had  been  dead  about 
two  years,  had  left  his  family  a  sufficient  estate,  if  it 
had  been  kept  together,  to  make  them  comfortable; 
but  Anne  Page  had  married  a  cantankerous  sort  of 
creature  who  must  certainly  have  frightened  the  poor 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  185 

child  into  loving  him,  and  her  husband  must  needs 
have  her  share  divided  off,  and  that  broke  up  the  unity 
of  the  family  as  well  as  of  the  estate.  Fitzroy  and  his 
mother  preserved  their  portions  in  joint  ownership,  but 
the  old  lady  insisted  upon  its  being  also,  under  joint 
management,  and  Fitzroy  had  abandoned  it  into  her 
hands,  and  contented  himself  with  the  law  business, 
and  influence  for  other  law  business,  he  had  inherited. 
He,  too,  had  gone  fishing  for  a  wife — but  in  a  different 
way  from  that  I  had  adopted  and  hoped  would  suc 
ceed. 

About  eighteen  months  before  my  visit,  a  very  fine 
gentleman,  who  called  himself  Captain  Cartwright,  had 
come  to  Rosstown  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  an 
nounced  himself  as  an  architect  and  civil  engineer.  He 
was  very  polite,  very  pompous,  and  very  fat  and  fussy, 
and  from  the  way  he  talked  and  lived  it  was  generally 
supposed  that  he  lived  upon  the  interest  of  a  consider 
able  fortune  in  Richmond,  Ya.,  and  had  come  out  to 
the  new  country  for  the  purpose  of  investing  in  the  best 
lands  he  might  discover  in  the  pursuit  of  his  scientific 
investigations.  Mrs.  Cartwright  was  a  quiet,  meek 
little  woman,  who  dressed  neatly,  and  showed  most 
ladylike  manners.  Miss  Sallie  (I  wonder  if  I  shall 
live  long  enough  to  see  Johnny  spelt  with  an  i  e?) 
Cartwright,  who  was  about  twenty-two,  was  a  fine 
dashing  girl,  not  very  beautiful,  but  amiable  looking, 
spirited,  a  fine  talker  and  dancer,  and  with  a  rare 
knowledge  of  the  toilet.  She  had  soon  talked,  danced, 
and  dressed  herself  into  Fitzroy's  particular  notice,  arid 
one  day  at  a  fishing  party  she  had  fallen  into  a  deep 
hole  in  the  creek,  and  Fitzroy  had  at  some  risk  to  his 
16* 


186  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

clothes  and  comfort,  if  not  to  his  life.,  got  her  out. 
Hence  the  courtship  and  marriage.  His  mother  had 
opposed  it  warmly ;  had  told  him  that  perhaps  Miss 
Sallie  was  as  good  as  she  appeared  to  be,  but  that  no 
one  knew  her  family  antecedents;  her  father  had  come 
without  letters  of  introduction,  etc.  etc.  etc.,  to  which 
he  answered  that  he  was  not  going  to  marry  Miss 
Sallie's  family,  or  her  father,  but  herself,  and  as  long 
as  she  suited  him  the  others  made  no  difference. 

In  this  matter  Fitzroy  was  wrong,  and  he  found  him 
self  so.  I  have  heard  numbers  make  the  same  remark, 
but  with  the  exception  of  Anne  Page's  husband — who 
seemed  to  constitute  himself  a  sort  of  step-husband,  so 
far  as  making  the  family  discontented  and  miserable 
was  concerned — and  one  or  two  others,  I  have  never  yet 
known  a  man  of  whom  it  could  not  be  said  that  so  far 
as  his  comfort  and  usefulness  in  life  were  concerned,  he 
had  more  or  less  married  his  wife's  family  in  marrying 
her.  At  any  rate,  when  a  man  marries,  he  unites  to 
himself  the  temper,  proclivities,  and  constitution  of 
another  family,  and  he  finds  in  his  children  that  he  did 
actually  marry  his  wife's  family. 

About  ten  years  after  this  I  was  again  in  Rosstown, 
and  Fitzroy  insisted  so  strongly  upon  my  staying  at 
his  house  that  I  consented,  much  against  my  will  and 
to  my  subsequent  regret.  He  looked  worn  and  hag 
gard,  and,  though  he  was  well  dressed,  had  a  shabby 
appearance  I  cannot  describe.  His  wife  did  not  come 
at  once  to  welcome  me  in  the  parlor — the  very  picture 
in  neatness  and  discomfort  of  that  I  had  entered  in  my 
Uncle  James's  house  twenty-five  years  before  —  and 
when,  in  about  a  half  hour,  she  did  make  her  appear- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  ISf 

ance,  the  marks  of  haste  about  her  entrance  and  dress, 
and  the  fretful  discontented  expression  upon  her  coun 
tenance,  confirmed  my  foreboding  that  Fitzroy  did  not 
have  a  happy  home.  She  was  very  polite  and  kind, 
but  the  meals  were  ill  served,  and  there  was  a  general 
appearance  of  slovenliness  about  the  table  which  indi 
cated  that  she  was  a  poor  housekeeper,  and  also  that, 
most  likely,  their  fortunes  were  not  prosperous.  The 
four  small  children  and  the  baby  were  prim  in  their 
best  clothes,  their  faces  were  clean,  and  their  hair  was 
carefully  combed,  but  they  were  noisy  and  quarrel 
some,  and  seemed  to  pay  little  respect  to  their  father, 
who  generally  remained  silent  and  depressed,  though 
he  sometimes  joined  volubly  and  excitedly  in  the  talk, 
and  would  lead  it  at  random  to  a  different  subject. 

The  second  morning  of  my  stay,  as  I  lay  awake  in 
my  bed,  separated  from  their  room  by  a  thin  partition, 
I  heard  their  voices  for  some  time  and  paid  no  atten 
tion  to  them,  but  presently  I  heard  him  say  in  a  raised 
tone,  "  I  do  not  care,  madam,  if  my  cousin  does  hear 
what  I  say,  for  he  is  a  man  of  sense  and  discretion. 
But  why  should  he  not  hear  and  speak  of  what  all  the 
world  knows  and  speaks  of  already  ?  Are  you,  perhaps, 
ignorant  that  I  am  the  laughing-stock  of  the  county, 
or  the  most  pitied  object  in  it  ?" 

"Go  on,"  said  she,  "I'm  used  to  your  brutality !" 
"Brutality!"  he  exclaimed  bitterly.  "Because  when 
you  have  put  me  to  the  rack  and  torture  I  cry  out,  I 
am  to  be  called  brutal !  You  have  made  my  life  mis 
erable.  Though  I  work  hard,  and  deny  myself  every 
pleasure,  you  reproach  me  continually,  because  I  have 
not  the  money  for  all  your  occasions.  If  I  propose  any 


188  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

scheme,  you  throw  cold  water  upon  it.  If  I  do  any 
thing  and  think  it  excellent,  you  tell  me  it  will  come  to 
nothing,  and  you  teach  my  children  to  despise  me  as  a 
poor,  inefficient,  and  ill-tempered  creature.  I  actually 
stand  alone  in  the  world,  without  encouragement  at 
home  or  abroad ;  for  you  have  separated  me  from  my 
mother  and  sister  by  your  vile  temper  and  unreason 
ableness.  I  am  alone,  desolate,  and  wretched.  For 
my  joys  I  have  to  depend  upon  myself,  for  counsel  I 
have  to  depend  upon  my  own  unaided  judgment.  You 
seem  to  think  that  you  perform  the  whole  duty  of  a 
wife  when  you  keep  my  clothes  and  those  of  your  chil 
dren  clean,  and  in  good  order,  but  I  could  hire  a  woman 
to  do  that  for  thirty  dollars  a  month,  and  never  be 
troubled  by  her  tongue  or  sour  looks.  Though  you 
know  that  I  need  consolation  in  my  troubles  in  the 
world,  and  am  faint  for  love,  you  scatter  firebrands, 
arrows,  and  death,  like  a  madman,  and  when  a  little 
access  of  repentance  comes,  you  tell  me  you  did  not 
mean  any  harm.  I  tell  you,  madam,  that  your  re 
proaches  and  ill  humors  must  stop.  One  would  think 
you  had  plenty  of  beauty  and  charms  to  squander  my 
love  as  you  do,  and  have  done,  but  you  must  know  that 
when  you  have  squandered  it  all  you  will  find  that 
your  beauty  and  charms  are  too  faded  to  regain  it 
again !" 

The  last  part  of  the  tirade  was  so  loud  that  my 
coughs  and  hems,  which  I  had  been  using  from  the 
first,  could  not  be  heard.  It  was  a  dreadful  talk  from 
a  husband  to  a  wife,  and  he  must  have  been  either  an 
outrageous  scoundrel,  or  a  good  man  driven  to  des 
peration  who  uttered  it.  His  gloom  and  his  wife's  pla- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  189 

cidity  at  the  breakfast  table  showed  the  fault  was  hers, 
and  I  thought  to  myself  with  horror  what  would  be 
my  fate  should  my  gentle  Mary,  after  ten  years  of  mar 
riage,  torment  me  thus. 

How  he  and  his  wife  got  along  afterward  I  had  no 
means  of  knowing.  They  never  formally  separated, 
though  I  heard  that  they  became  husband  and  wife 
only  in  name,  until  in  a  drunken  fit  he  shot  himself. 
She  then  sold  out,  and  removed  with  her  children  to 
Baltimore,  where  her  mother,  then  a  widow,  was  living, 
and  they  all  passed  out  of  my  ken.  I  wish  the  painful 
recollections  of  his  condition  and  talk  would  also  pass 
from  my  memory,  but  the  impression  was  too  deep,  and 
as  I  pursued  my  journey  after  breakfast,  a  gloom  hung 
upon  my  spirits  until  the  new  scenes  I  was  passing 
through  displaced  it. 

My  long  ride  was  without  notable  incident.  The 
country  became  gradually  more  wild,  and,  but  for  the 
road,  seemed  for  many  miles  at  a  time  never  to  have 
been  visited  by  man.  Through  the  Nation  I  passed 
unmolested.  Bango  once  or  twice  accomplished  two 
stations,  about  fifty  miles,  in  a  day,  but  I  generally  rode 
only  from  station  to  station,  as  I  was  in  no  hurry. 
Strawberries  were  just  out  of  season,  but  the  Indians 
brought  in  plenty  of  blackberries  for  sale  at  the  taverns. 
After  leaving  the  Nation,  the  road  was  even  worse  and 
less  defined  than  before,  but  at  last  I  reached  the  Land 
Office  at  Fort  Claiborne,  and  obtained  the  surveyors 
and  their  party,  who  had  been  engaged,  and  we  started 
on  our  expedition. 

It  would  be  too  long  and  uninteresting  to  tell  my 
adventures,  none  of  which,  except  as  connected  with 


190  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

Bango,  have  the  slightest  interest  even  for  me.  He 
was  a  great  horse,  and  before  our  trip  was  over  I  could 
have  sold  him  for  a  large  sum,  or  swapped  him  for  any 
other  two  horses  in  the  party.  He  could  travel  all  day 
upon  what  he  browsed  at  night,  seemed  unconscious  of 
thirst,  was  always  to  be  found  when  wanted — for  he 
seemed  to  realize  the  fact  that  it  wouldn't  do  to  stray 
off — could  swim  like  an  otter,  and  travel  through  the 
dark  like  a  panther.  The  comical  old  fellow  actually 
won  for  himself  the  admiration  he  seemed  always  to 
be  challenging,  and  I  overheard  a  little  Englishman  we 
had  along  designate  me  as  "Mr.  Page,  the  gentleman 
what  owns  the  horse  which  his  name  is  Bango." 

Poor  Bango,  when  you  died,  years  afterward,  I  felt 
like  one  in  the  circle  of  whose  friends  a  great  void  had 
been  made,  and  the  thought  kept  recurring  to  my  mind: 
And  shall  he  never  live  again?  I  can  easily  understand 
the  Indian  superstition.  Man  is  instinctively  unwilling 
to  admit  that  what  he  has  loved  is  dead  forever. 

My  return  home  was  much  the  most  wearisome  part 
of  my  absence.  The  way  was  long,  and  though  Bango 
was  kept  at  his  best  rate  of  traveling,  the  miles  length 
ened  as  I  approached  Yatton,  until  the  last  three  miles 
seemed  as  long  as  any  ten  I  had  previously  traveled. 
Besides  this,  a  day  or  two  before  our  survey  was  over 
I  had  unwittingly  handled  a  vine  of  poisoned  oak 
(Rhus  Toxicodendron) ,  and  being  peculiarly  sensitive 
to  its  effects,  the  poison  spread  over  my  whole  body. 
Behold  me  then  late  one  warm  afternoon  in  August 
riding  through  Yatton  to  my  father's  house.  My  hat 
and  clothes  were  in  such  disorder  as  to  seem  of  antique 
cut ;  my  unshaven  face  was  splotched  up  with  hair,  and 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  191 

sores  from  poison  oak ;  Bango,  gaunt  with  his  journey, 
and  tired,  but  with  spirit  unbroken,  sidled  along  the 
street,  and  I  looked  little  like  one  whose  mind  was  filled 
with  the  joyful  idea  of  seeing  his  sweetheart. 

But  in  the  state  I  was  how  could  I  go  to  see  her? 
It  was  enraging !  I  could  not  shave  without  flaying 
myself,  and  if  I  could,  my  face  was  too  swollen  for  me 
to  hope  to  excite  even  pity  for  a  figure  so  ridiculous. 
Nature  this  time  stepped  in  to  relieve  me  from  my  em 
barrassment  by  throwing  me  that  night  into  a  fever, 
which  confined  me  to  my  bed  and  the  house  for  about 
two  weeks,  by  which  time  the  effects  of  the  poison  had 
worn  off,  and  my  power  for  impatience  was  somewhat 
weakened. 

One  day,  about  ten  days  after  my  arrival  at  home, 
my  sister  Bel  came  into  my  room,  and  I  saw  by  her 
looks  she  had  something  important  to  tell  me ;  so  I 
said,  without  preface,  "  Well,  out  with  it  1" 

"  Who  do  you  think  has  just  left  the  house?"  said  she. 

"  Mrs.  Ruggles,"  said  I.  "  She  is  very  kind.  I  sup 
pose  she  came  to  see  whether  she  could,  not  announce 
that  there  is  no  hope  for  me,  and  I  am  bound  to  die." 

"Oh,  brother,"  replied  Bel,  "you  are  too  severe  upon 
Mrs.  Ruggles.  I'm  sure  she  would  grieve  heartily  if 
you  were  to  die.  But  it  was  not  she  who  was  here  ; 
it  was  a  young  lady,  and  she  has  been  here  frequently 
in  your  absence,  and  we  have  been  to  see  her  too,  and 
oh  !  she  is  so  sweet !" 

"Pshaw!"  I  answered  gruffly,  "I  don't  like  sweet 
young  ladies.  They  are  generally  nobodies.  But  who 
was  she?" 

"  Oh,  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  like  to  hear  of 


192  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

this  one's  coming.  But  it  was  no  one  but  Mary  Mc- 
Intyre,  who  called  to  ask  us  to  come  out  to  her  house 
next  week." 

"Mary  who?  Mary  Mclntyre  ?  Why,  bless  my 
soul,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  in  the  first  place  ?" 
I  exclaimed  in  some  excitement!  "I  suppose  you  told 
her  you  would  come.  Of  course  you  must  go,  and  so 
must  I.  I'll  be  perfectly  well  by  that  time,  certain." 

"But,  brother,"  suggested  Bel,  "you  must  not  ex 
pose  yourself  too  soon." 

"Expose  myself!  Oh,  no,  I'll  not  expose  myself," 
said  I,  and  I  added  to  myself:  "as  though  I  hadn't 
swam  creeks,  and  ridden  through  sun  and  rain,  and 
night  and  day,  as  hard  as  Bango  could  stand  it  to  get 
to  see  her;  or,  as  if  my  fever,  or  anything  but  my  own 
ugly  looks,  could  have  kept  me  from  seeing  her  before 
now!" 

I  got  well  speedily,  and  when  the  day  came  I  was 
all  ready,  and  we  paid  the  visit.  And  two  days  after 
I  went  there  again  alone,  and  Mary  and  I  took  a  ram 
ble  in  the  garden  together,  and  when  we  returned  she 
had  promised  to  be  my  wife.  And  when  we  got  into 
the  house  we  found  quite  a  number  of  lady  visitors  in 
the  parlor,  several  of  them  strangers  to  me,  and,  after 
sitting  awhile,  I  rose  and  said  I  must  go,  and  went  up 
and  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Mclntyre,  and  Miss  Sarah, 
and  Miss  Lucy,  and  Tom  Merriweather,  and  Hopkins — 
confound  him,  he  couldn't  hurt  me  now — and  then,  my 
embarrassment  increasing  with  the  magnitude  of  the 
hand-shaking  operation,  I  went  all  around  and  shook 
hands  affectionately  with  every  lady  in  the  room,  to 
the  intense  amusement  of  Mary's  sisters  and  mother — 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  193 

though  she  herself  was  rather  too  preoccupied  to  see 
the  fun  of  it. 

There  are  some  things  a  gentleman  naturally  con 
ceals,  not  because  they  are  ugly,  or  paltry,  but  because 
they  arc  too  delicate  and  precious  to  be  exposed  to  the 
careless  glance,  or  to  the  unappreciative  or  the  vulgar, 
who  would  distort  them  and  destroy  their  symmetry 
even  by  an  unhallowed  look.  The  very  regards  of 
some  men  and  women  are  a  shock  to  delicacy  and 
purity. 

One  of  the  very  earliest  lessons  my  father  taught 
me  was  that  the  man  who  kisses  and  tells  is  a  ruffian, 
and  it  has  always  been  my  most  rigid  rule  to  heed  the 
maxim  in  both  letter  and  spirit.  Much  more  shall  I 
refrain  from  exposing  the  pure  and  precious  love  shown 
me  by  the  woman,  the  memory  of  whose  love  has  many 
a  time  and  often  been  the  only  guarantee  I  have  had  to 
myself  that  I  was  not  myself  utterly  worthless.  The 
love  of  a  pure  and  sensible  woman  is  a  support  to  self- 
respect  which  it  is  wonderful  so  many  men  forget  or 
despise. 

Ay,  young  ladies !  toothless  and  babbling  as  the  old 
man  now  is,  he  has  once  been  loved  with  all  the  ardor 
of  a  heart  as  pure  and  loving  as  the  best  and  warmest 
of  yours ;  gray-headed  and  withered  as  he  is  now,  eyes 
as  bright  as  the  brightest  of  yours,  once  looked  upon 
him  as  a  fine  type  of  manhood,  and  hands  as  soft  and 
beautiful  as  any  you  ever  saw  have  toyed  lovingly 
with  his  glossy  hair,  and  gently  patted  his  cheeks  firm 
with  youth  and  health ;  and  when  he  grows  so  feeble 
with  age  that  he  can  only  support  himself  erect  upon 
his  stick,  he  will  pat  himself  upon  the  breast,  and  say 

n  N 


194  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

with  exultant  pride,  "  I  have  loved  worthily,  and  been 
worthily  loved !"  And  when  he  says  so  he  thinks  that 
he  has  said  all  a  man  need  say  to  prove  himself  a  man, 
and  all  that  he  can  say  to  show  that,  though  he  may 
not  have  accomplished  fame  or  fortune,  he  has  accom 
plished  the  noblest  aim  of  life — to  approach  the  quality 
and  joys  of  heaven.  / 

^Loving  and  loved  is  all  Heaven's  history. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THIS,  the  third  year  of  my  professional  life,  I  made 
and  collected  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  by  my 
practice  and  the  surveying  expedition.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  litigation  and  the  prospect  of  its  continu 
ance  for  some  years  longer — and  though  some  other 
young  lawyers  of  my  acquaintance  made  more,  it  was 
by  large  fees  in  chance  criminal  cases,  and  floating 
practice,  whereas  I  had  secured  a  clientelle  of  solid 
men  and  men  of  influence,  and  could  calculate  with 
safety  upon  an  increase  rather  than  a  diminution  of 
paying  business. 

But  I  attended  to  my  business  simply  as  business, 
and  as  a  matter  of  duty.  I  had  no  love  for  the  practice 
of  law,  though  I  regarded  the  science  as  better  fitted 
than  any  other  for  enlarging  and  liberalizing  the  mind. 
The  sphere  of  the  physician,  the  preacher,  or  the  me 
chanician  is  noble  and  useful,  but  it  is  contracted,  and 
with  the  two  first,  as  at  present  constituted,  is  filled 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  195 

with  doubts  and  contentions  for  which  there  is  no 
judge  to  decide.  There  are  rules  in  medicine,  and  so 
there  are  in  chess ;  but  in  neither  the  one  nor  the  other 
does  success  always  follow  a  precise  adherence  to  them 
— nay,  a  precise  adherence  is  often  the  very  cause  of 
failure.  The  symptoms  in  both  are  apt  to  be  mistaken. 

There  are  great  fundamental  rules  in  theology  also, 
and  the  great  doctrine  of  Christianity — the  atonement, 
with  its  essential  accompaniments  —  cannot  be  mis 
taken.  But  so  soon  as  man  begins  to  be  a  theologian, 
and  to  speculate  about  what  is  not  clearly  and  unmis 
takably  revealed  in  God's  word,  and  attempts  with 
his  finite  mind  to  judge  God,  the  whole  affair  becomes 
a  matter  of  temperament  and  the  imagination,  and  he 
is  certain  to  "darken  counsel  by  words  without  knowl 
edge." 

Whence  comes  the  confusion  which  has  for  ages  ex 
isted  and  torn  in  pieces  the  Christian  world,  setting 
brother  against  brother,  father  against  son,  but  from 
this  very  darkening  of  counsel  by  words  without  knowl 
edge  ?  Instead  of  humbly  receiving  the  truth  as 
clearly  revealed,  and  humbly  using  charity  toward 
opinions  upon  minor  questions  about  which  men  may 
differ  and  yet  be  true  Christians,  they  presumptuously 
judge  God  with  regard  to  those  questions,  exalt  those 
questions  to  the  highest  place  of  importance,  and  call 
upon  all  men — learned  and  ignorant,  whatever  the  capa 
city  and  bias  of  each — to  bow  down  to  their  judgment. 

The  science  of  law  embraces  within  it  all  moral  rela 
tions,  and  therefore  the  whole  system  of  the  moral  laws 
of  nature,  from  which  no  living  man  is  exempt,  and  it 
is,  therefore,  the  vastest  and  most  varied  of  all  sciences. 


196  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

To  liken  it  to  Nature  herself — it  has  its  shady  groves, 
where  all  is  beauty  and  peace ;  its  flowery  meads,  in 
which  the  mind  may  revel  in  pleasure;  its  arid  deserts, 
its  roaring  cataracts,  and  its  cloud-piercing  mountains, 
which  one  ascends  to  look  upward  and  upward  to  the 
throne  of  God,  with  nothing  but  the  limit  of  his  own 
power  of  vision  to  obstruct  the  view.  And  one  law 
yer  cannot  contend,  and  say  to  another,  "I  see  further 
than  you  do." 

I  therefore  have  always  loved  the  noble  science  to 
which  I  chose  to  apply  my  energies — but  the  practice 
of  the  lawyer  and  advocate  has  never  been  agreeable. 
My  soul  naturally  revolts  at  discord  and  confusion ; 
and  to  see,  much  more  to  handle  and  dissect,  the  follies 
and  vices  of  my  fellow-men  has  always  given  me  pain. 
I  never  yet  took  pleasure  in  the  antics  or  the  humor  of 
a  drunken  man,  and  though,  if  I  know  myself,  I  am 
not  deficient  in  the  combativeness  which  becomes  a 
man,  I  have  always  had  a  nervous  horror  of  a  quarrel, 
and,  unless  compelled  by  special  duty,  have  always 
avoided  even  looking  at  a  brawl. 

About  this  time  I  was  temporarily  appointed  State's 
Attorney  of  my  District,  and  it  came  into  my  way  to 
investigate  a  case  of  murder,  which,  with  its  accom 
paniments,  disgusted  me  thoroughly. 

News  was  brought  into  town  one  day  that  a  man  by 
the  name  of  Glass  had  been  murdered  in  the  north 
western  corner  of  the  county,  and  the  coroner  sum 
moned  a  jury,  and,  accompanied  by  the  sheriff  and  my 
self, — whom  he  overpersuaded  to  go, — preceded  to  the 
place. 

It  was  a  rough  and  barren  country — the  rural  district 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  197 

of  the  county — inhabited  almost  entirely  by  very  poor 
whites,  who  among  them  all  hardly  owned  a  dozen 
slaves,  and  those  almost  as  far  below  the  slaves  of  the 
rich  as  their  owners  were  below  the  rich  themselves. 
Small  one  and  two-roomed  log-cabins,  with  a  corn-crib 
and  shed  for  horses,  and  two  or  three  small  out-houses 
attached,  were  dotted  about  on  the  hills  and  in  the 
hollows  every  half  mile  or  so  over  the  district,  and  in 
these  the  families  lived.  Their  fields  adjoining  were 
not  much  larger  than  patches,  and  generally  extended 
from  near  the  house  down  into  and  along  a  bottom 
through  which  ran  one  of  the  very  numerous  spring 
branches  or  small  creeks  which  came  together  some 
distance  below,  and  formed  Brown's  Creek. 

Glass's  cabin  was  one  of  the  meanest  in  the  district 
— consisting  of  a  narrow  front  gallery,  one  principal 
room,  and  a  very  small  cuddy  or  shed-room  made  by 
the  extension  of  part  of  the  back  roof.  The  roof  was  of 
oak-boards  hung  on  to  the  sheathing-slats  by  pegs,  arid 
confined  to  their  places  by  heavy  poles  laid  lengthwise 
across.  A  low  rail-fence,  about  fifteen  feet  in  front  of 
the  house,  formed  the  yard  and  kept  out  the  hogs  and 
cattle. 

When  we  rode  up,  we  found  the  wife  of  the  deceased 
— a  sallow-faced  young  woman,  dressed  in  striped 
homespun — seated  on  a  low  chair  in  the  gallery,  with 
a  pipe  in  her  mouth  and  a  young  infant  tugging  at  her 
breast.  A  white-headed  and  almost  naked  little  girl, 
about  two  years  of  age,  was  seated  near  her  on  the 
puncheon-floor  staring  at  the  strange  assemblage.  An 
other  young  woman,  dressed  like  Mrs.  Glass,  and  who,  I 
found,  was  her  younger  sister,  moved  about  apparently 
17* 


198  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS.  OF 

not  ashamed  that  she  was  herself  very  soon  to  become 
a  mother.  Old  Burdick,  their  father,  and  his  son  Jim 
Burdick,  were  also  present,  having  come  from  their 
home,  about  six  miles  off,  that  morning,  upon  hearing 
of  the  murder;  and  five  or  six  of  the  neighbors,  all 
dressed  in  white  homespun  shirts  and  pants  with  knit- 
suspenders,  and  without  coats,  were  lounging  about  or 
seated  on  the  front  fence. 

The  body  of  the  deceased  was  not  at  the  house,  but 
had  been  left  lying  where  it  was  found,  in  the  path 
back  of  the  field,  about  three  hundred  yards  from  the 
house.  It  is  considered  in  the  country  to  be  illegal  to 
remove  or  even  to  turn  over  the  body  of  one  found 
killed,  until  the  coroner  shall  have  held  his  inquest. 

After  the  coroner  had  sworn  in  the  jury,  and  all  pres 
ent  he  thought  might  be  witnesses,  we 'proceeded  to 
the  spot  where  the  body  lay  in  its  blood — guarded  by 
an  old  negro  man,  while  a  neighbor  was  seated  on  the 
fence  some  yards  off.  After  viewing  the  position  of 
the  body, — which  lay  on  its  face  diagonally  across  the 
path, — and  carefully  noting  the  surroundings,  and  ex 
amining  the  position  and  direction  of  the  bullet-hole  in 
the  back,  just  below  the  right  shoulder-blade,  which 
caused  the  death,  the  body  was  removed  and  placed 
under  a  beech-tree  in  front  of  the  house,  and  covered 
with  a  blanket.  The  coroner  then  took  his  place  upon 
the  gallery,  and  called  up  the  witnesses  one  by  one — 
first  the  old  negro,  then  the  wife,  two  of  the  neighbors, 
old  Burdick  and  his  son,  and,  finally,  the  sister-in-law 
of  the  deceased. 

The  negro  testified  that  about  sunrise  the  deceased 
left  him  in  the  patch  near  the  house,  saying  that  he 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  199 

would  go  and  look  at  his  coon  traps  back  of  the  field, 
and  that,  about  twenty  minutes  after  he  left,  he  had 
heard  him  whoop,  as  though  in  answer  to  a  call,  and 
presently  had  heard  loud  voices,  one  of  which  was  that 
of  the  deceased,  and  the  other  unknown ;  and  then, 
after  a  moment  of  silence,  had  heard  a  rifle  go  off ;  that 
Glass  was  unarmed  when  he  left  him  ;  that  the  break 
fast-horn  blew,  and  that  Glass  not  coming,  it  was  blown 
again,  and  that  he  was  then  presently  sent  to  see  what 
had  become  of  him,  and  he  found  him  lying  dead  as  he 
was  found. 

Mrs.  Glass  had  been  back  of  the  house,  and  heard 
the  voices  and  the  rifle  shot.  She  did  not  recognize 
the  voices,  though  one  of  them,  she  said,  sounded  like 
his  (Glass's),  and  the  other — well,  she  did  not  know, 
and  didn't  like  to  say.  Upon  being  pressed,  she  said 
it  reminded  her  of  Joe  Harlip's  voice,  but  she  could 
not  say  it  was  his.  She  showed  little  or  no  emotion, 
spoke  of  the  dead  man  as  "he"  and  "him,"  and  never 
mentioned  him  as  "husband,"  or  Mr.  Glass,  or  by  any 
name  of  endearment. 

Neither  of  the  neighbors  knew  anything  about  the 
circumstances.  Glass  had  been  only  about  four  years 
in  the  neighborhood.  There  had  lately  been  some  bad 
talk  about  him  and  a  certain  person — it  was  best  not  to 
name  names.  He  was  not  a  quarrelsome  man,  and 
didn't  drink  more  than  was  general  in  the  neighbor 
hood — they  all  drank  more  or  less  ;  but  he  was  apt  to 
be  mighty  reckless  when  he  got  to  going.  One  of  them 
saw  a  man  riding  through  the  woods  about  a  half  hour 
by  sun,  going  in  the  opposite  direction  from  Glass's, 
and  thought  he  looked  like  Joe  Harlip,  but  he  was  not 


200  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

close  enough  to  tell.  The  man  had  no  gun  that  he 
could  see,  and  was  not  riding  very  fast. 

Old  man  Burdick  was  very  stolid.  He  said  he  knew 
nothing,  and  did  not  Avish  to  know  anything  about  it. 
He  had  had  a  heap  of  trouble,  and  his  trouble  was  on 
him  now.  Glass  was  the  cause  of  it,  but  killing  him  did 
not  relieve  it.  He  did  not  wish  to  say  anything  which 
might  get  an  innocent  man  into  trouble.  Mrs.  Glass 
and  Jane  were  both  his  daughters.  Jane  had  never 
been  married.  Glass  had  been  mighty  anxious  to  get 
Jane  to  come  up  and  stay  with  her  sister,  and  she  had 
come  about  eight  months  before,  and  had  been  staying 
there  ever  since.  Joe  Harlip  had  been  courting  her  at 
his  house  and  at  Glass's  up  to  about  a  month  before, 
when  he  had  quit,  mighty  mad  about  something,  and  he 
hadn't  seen  him  since. 

Jim  Burdick's  testimony  was  to  the  same  effect. 
Joe  Harlip,  he  said,  had  got  mighty  mad  with  Glass 
about  something  or  other,  and  had  not  been  about 
lately.  He  had  seen  him  two  or  three  days  before,  and 
he  looked  mighty  grum.  Had  not  seen  him  since,  and 
did  not  know  where  he  was ;  supposed  he  was  at 
home. 

Jane,  the  younger  woman,  was  now  called.  At  the 
request  of  the  coroner,  I  had  conducted  the  examina 
tions  thus  far,  and  when  she  was  called,  he  insisted  that 
I  should  go  on. 

I  do  not  care  to  give  a  detail  of  her  statement,  which 
showed  she  was  shameless.  Her  sister  had  for  some 
months  been  very  jealous  of  her,  but  with  Glass  to  up 
hold  her,  she  didn't  care — not  she.  Glass  and  her  sis 
ter  had  not  been  on  good  terms  lately.  They  all  drank 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  201 

whisky  sometimes;  she  herself  had  taken  her  toddy 
with  Glass  that  morning  before  he  started  out.  She 
slept  in  the  shed-room,  and  the  jug  was  kept  in  there. 
She  had  taken  two  or  three  other  drinks  during  the 
day  on  account  of  the  trouble.  She  had  not  seen  Joe 
Harlip  for  several  weeks,  and  she  didn't  care  that 
(snapping  her  finger)  for  him.  When  she  saw  him  last 
he  was  mighty  mad  with  Glass  about  her,  and  swore 
he  would  kill  him.  Glass  had  been  a  good  man  to  her 
— and  here  she  began  to  cry,  and  soon  got  into  hys 
terics,  caused  by  the  excitement  of  the  circumstances 
and  the  liquor  she  had  drank  acting  upon  her  con 
dition. 

An  examination  of  the  ground  around  the  spot  of 
the  killing  showed  that  a  horse  had  been  hitched  near 
there,  and  the  print  of  the  butt  of  a  rifle  was  found  at 
the  root  of  a  tree  about  twenty  steps  from  where  Glass 
had  fallen.  The  murderer  had  evidently  got  into  a 
quarrel  with  Glass,  and  had  got  his  rifle  and  shot  him 
as  he  Avas  moving  off. 

The  coroner  issued  a  warrant  for  Joe  Harlip,  but  he 
had  left  home,  and  as  he  was  never  afterward  seen  in 
the  county,  the  case  had  dropped  after  the  grand  jury 
had  found  a  true  bill.  Whatever  became  of  Jane  and 
Mrs.  Glass,  I  do  not  know.  I  heard  that  Jane  had 
taken  up  with  a  man  named  Gleeson  who  soon  after 
came  to  the  neighborhood,  but  gradually  the  whole 
affair,  and  all  the  persons  concerned,  passed  off  the 
stage  of  life. 

I  have  mentioned  this  affair  for  two  reasons.  The 
first,  to  show  the  state  of  society  and  morals  in  the 
rural  districts ;  and  it  is  a  true  picture  of  all  the  other 


202  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

rural  districts  on  this  continent — in  the  North  even 
worse  than  in  the  South — in  Europe,  and  all  over  the 
world.  The  other,  to  exhibit  one  of  the  many  causes 
why  I  did  not  like  to  practice  law.  Who  would  like 
to  handle  such  affairs  as  this  ?  It  is  bad  enough  to 
hear  of  such  things,  and,  for  my  own  part,  I  prefer 
neither  to  hear  nor  see  them. 

Now  I  am  well  aware  that  in  saying  this  I  lay  my 
self  liable  to  the  charge  of  taking  a  narrow  view  of  life, 
and  giving  a  weak  preference  to  its  pleasures.  I  shall 
be  told  that  the  true  man  chooses  an  object  and  goes  at 
it  as  into  a  battle,  fights  bravely,  takes  its  pleasures  of 
victory,  or,  if  beaten,  never  submits. 

It  is  correct  to  say  that  the  true  man  always  does  his 
duty,  whether  it  be  agreeable  or  disagreeable ;  and  I 
trust  that  I  have  proved  myself  a  true  man.  Although 
I  have  done  many  things  I  ought  not  to  have  done,  I 
cannot  conscientiously  reproach  myself  for  ever  lacking 
in  my  duty  of  doing  what  ought  to  be  done.  In  spite 
of  my  dislike  to  the  practice  of  the  law,  and,  above  all, 
of  my  impatience  of  its  slowness  and  uncertainty,  I  at 
tended  to  it  faithfully  during  all  this  period  of  my  life 
as  a  solemn  duty  I  owed  to  my  own  happiness,  and  the 
welfare  of  my  younger  brothers  and  sisters,  and  the 
dear  one  who  was  so  soon  to  be  dependent  upon  me. 
The  motive  was  superior  to  the  disgust  and  impatience, 
and  I  worked  hard  early  and  late,  and  all  the  world 
said :  behold  a  man  who  is  bound  to  rise  high  in  fame 
and  fortune !  Whether  or  not  I  am  to  be  censured  for 
not  in  after-life  fulfilling  this  prognostication  of  the 
world,  is  a  question  I  will  discuss  in  its  proper  place. 
For  the  present  it  is  sufficient  to  state  that  my  labors 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  203 

met  with  such  results,  both  present  and  prospective, 
that  I  was  justified  in  my  own  mind  and  in  the  opin 
ions  of  my  friends  in  hastening  my  marriage. 

Not  many  weeks  after  our  engagement,  Lucy  mar 
ried  Merri  weather,  and  Mr.  Mclntyre  gave  her  as  a 
dowry  the  value,  in  money  and  negroes,  of  $25,000.  It 
was  to  be  supposed  that,  as  he  could  well  afford  it,  he 
would  give  Mary  no  less,  for  he  agreed  without  diffi 
culty  to  our  marriage — as  indeed  did  Mrs.  Mclntyre 
and  the  sisters.  My  calculation,  then,  was  that  we 
would  start  in  our  joint  fortunes  with  a  capital  of  fifty 
thousand  dollars  —  for  my  profession  was  at  least 
equal  in  value  to  Mary's  capital.  Even  allowing  that 
my  professional  income -did  not  increase,  as  it  undoubt 
edly  must,  and  Mary's  capital  only  produced  five  per 
cent.,  we  would  have  a  yearly  income  of  $3750,  which 
would  be  amply  sufficient  to  support  us  handsomely  in 
all  events,  and,  with  prudence,  by  the  time  I  became, 
in  the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  unable  to  work,  we 
should  be  able  to  provide  for  our  children  if  we  should 
be  so  fortunate,  or  unfortunate,  as  to  have  any. 

About  two  miles  east  of  Yatton,  on  Brown's  Creek, 
was  a  tract  of  three  hundred  and  sixty  acres  of  fine 
land,  owned  by  Mr.  James  Yandle,  who  had  built  upon 
it  a  neat  and  roomy  residence  with  all  the  necessary 
out-houses,  gardens,  and  improvements,  and  had  opened 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  acres  of  the  bottom  land 
for  a  sort  of  home  farm.  His  plantation  was  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  county  on  the  river,  but  he  lived  here 
so  as  to  give  his  family  the  advantages  of  church  and 
school,  and  also  on  account  of  the  superior  healthiness 
of  the  location.  But  he  was  one  of  the  gentlemen 


204  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

for  whom  I  had  gone  to  Alabama,  and  his  ideas  had 
become  so  elated  by  the  descriptions  he  had  heard  (not 
from  me,  however)  of  the  new  country  of  El  Dorado, 
that  he  determined  to  remove  his  family  there  with  him 
as  soon  as,  by  making  a  visit  first  himself,  he  could 
prepare  for  them.  He  wished  therefore,  though  I  did 
not  know  it,  to  sell  his  residence,  which  he  called  The 
Holt ;  and  as  such  a  sale  could  not  always  be  made 
at  a  time  to  suit  one's  convenience,  he  was  willing  to 
sell  at  the  first  opportunity,  and  remove  his  family,  in 
the  interim,  to  his  plantation. 

I  had  often  admired  the  beauty  and  convenience  of 
the  place,  and  knew  that  the  bottom  land  was  fertile ; 
but  of  course  though  I  now  desired  to  own  it,  I  could 
not  propose  to  Mr.  Yandle  to  sell  me  what  I  knew  his 
wife  and  children  loved  and  had  improved  with  such 
labor  and  taste.  The  man  who  goes  through  the  world 
with  the  opinion  that  everything  has  its  price,  and  is 
but  a  matter  of  dollars  and  cents,  is  a  cold-blooded  vul 
garian. 

Mr.  Yandle  seemed  to  appreciate  my  wants  and  his 
own  opportunity;  and  meeting  me  one  day  on  the 
street,  proposed  that  I  should  take  the  place  off  his 
hands.  He  said  that  he  had  no  need  of  ready  money, 
and  would  give  me  plenty  of  time  to  make  the  pay 
ments,  and  that  as  he  knew  that  I  and  my  wife  could 
appreciate  and  care  for  the  place,  he  would  even  let  me 
have  it  cheaper  than  be  would  a  stranger,  or  one  who 
had  no  taste.  After  some  further  conversation  we 
Agreed  that  if  Mary  consented  I  would  take  the  place 
at  seven  thousand  dollars,  payable  in  equal  install 
ments  in  five  years,  and  that  I  should  have  possession 


AS  HAH  AM  PAGE,  ESQ.  205 

by  the  first  of  December.  It  was  now  early  in  Sep 
tember,  and  that  would  give  him  time  to  remove  and 
settle  his  family,  and  give  me  time  also  to  get  settled 
on  the  place  and  commence  with  January  to  prepare 
for  a  crop.  I  had  till  the  next  Tuesday  to  give  au 
answer. 

That,  Wednesday  evening,  I  went  out  to  Mr.  Mc- 
Intyre's  and  told  Mary  my  arrangement,  and  asked  her 
consent  to  it.  Her  father  was  sitting  near  us,  and  she 
appealed  to  him.  "What  does  he  ask,  Page  ?"  said  he. 
I  told  him  the  terms,  and  he  said  they  were  very  fair, 
and  that  if  Mary  liked  the  place  he  could  see  no  objec 
tion 'to  the  purchase.  The  next  day,  however,  Mr. 
Mclntyre  was  in  town,  and  when  I  went  to  his  house 
Friday  evening,  Mary  handed  me  the  title  to  the  place, 
made  in  her  name,  and  paid  for  cash. 

To  cut  a  long  story  short,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mclntyre  also 
furnished  the  house  and  kitchen  completely  and  well, 
and  assigned  to  Mary  a  good  cook  and  house  girl — 
both  trained  under  Mrs.  Mclntyre's  eye.  Of  course  I 
could  make  a  volume  of  these  arrangements  by  telling 
how  Mary  got  my  opinion  about  furniture  without  let 
ting  me  know  why  she  wished  it,  how  she  made  me 
promise  to  buy  no  furniture  until  she  should  ask  me,  and 
how  I  was  slyly  consulted  with  a  "suppose  this,"  and 
"suppose  that,"  about  every  domestic  arrangement,  and 
how,  when  all  was  completed,  she  enjoyed  my  surprise 
and  pleasure  at  seeing  it ;  and  then  about  who  were 
the  bridesmaids  and  who  the  groomsmen,  and  how  it 
happened  that  Jenny  Preston  had  taken  sick  before 
the  time,  and  Mary  Forsyth  was  chosen  in  her  place, 
etc.  etc.  etc., — all  the  talk  and  feelings  and  arrange- 
18 


206  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

merits  of  a  young  couple  about  to  be  married  and  go 
to  housekeeping — but  it  would  make  niy  "  Life"  as 
trashy  to  read  as  all  of  those  things  are  unimportant 
and  common  in  their  occurrence. 

I  took  the  trouble  a  short  time  ago  to  analyze  the 
material  facts  contained  in  a  voluminous  book  written 
by  a  living  fashionable  novel  writer,  and  actually,  ex 
cept  that  in  the  last  chapter  the  parties  got  married 
and  lived  happily  ever  after,  there  was  not  a  fact  or  a 
reflection  in  the  whole  book  worth  remembering.  I  can 
enjoy  to  follow  a  rambling  writer  who  always  talks 
sense  or  pleasant  nonsense,  but  one  whose  aim  seems 
to  have  been  quantity,  and  whose  book  I  can  close 
without  having  a  single  suggestive  thought,  or  amusing 
or  important  fact  to  remember,  is  unbearable,  however 
artistic  may  be  the  construction  of  his  plot,  or  however 
glib  and  correct  may  be  his  style  and  language. 


CHAPTER    XYII. 

SO  Mary  and  I  were  married. 
When  a  man  marries,  the  mother  of  his  wife,  if 
she  be  a  good  and  sensible  woman,  generally  weeps, 
while  every  one  else  is  madly  gay.  When  a  healthy 
child  is  born,  it  is  Hip !  Hip ! !  Huzza ! ! !  and  all  is 
merriment. 

For  my  own  part,  I  think  the  weeping  mother  rea 
sonable,  and  the  careless  merriment  on  both  occasions 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  2 Of 

unreasonable  and  mistimed.  I  never  yet  have  had  a 
great  joy  but  that  my  soul  seemed  to  shrink  with  ap 
prehension  of  sorrow.  We  often  speak  of  "tears  of 
thankfulness,"  or  write  the  fact  that  one  "wept  for 
joy,"  without  ever  reflecting  upon  the  profound  mean 
ing  and  pathos  of  the  expressions. 

That  a  bridegroom  should  rejoice,  or  that  a  father 
should  be  joyful,  is  most  becoming  a  man ;  but  if  he 
rejoice  without  reflection,  he  is  little  better  than  a 
mocking-bird  or  an  idiot.  The  bridegroom  who  has 
due  respect  and  tenderness  for  his  bride ;  the  husband 
who  really  loves  his  wife,  and  sympathizes  with  her 
pain  and  danger;  the  father  who  really  feels  the  re 
sponsibility  of  parentage;  the  man  who  in  sober  truth 
and  earnestness  appreciates  the  sorrows  and  frailties 
and  uncertainty  of  life,  must  "rejoice  with  trembling." 

To  say,  then,  that  I  rejoiced  at  my  marriage  is 
simply  to  say  that  I  was  a  man;  to  say  that  I  was 
also  thoughtful,  is  to  affirm  that  I  was  a  sensible  man 
— which  means  a  man  of  feeling,  quite  as  much  as  it 
means  a  man  of  discretion.  Now  although  I  am  old, 
and  perhaps  trivial  and  erroneous  in  some  of  my  talk, 
I  never,  in  my  manhood  at  least,  gave  cause  for  being 
called  either  gloomy  or  weakly  sentimental  in  my  feel 
ings,  opinions,  or  conduct.  I  have  met  all  current 
opinions  of  matters  and  things  in  a  sturdy  paradoxical 
spirit,  as  willing  to  be  convinced  one  way  as  another; 
just  as  I  have,  when  duty  called  me,  met  the  obstacles 
of  life  with  a  fair  stand-up  determination  to  accomplish 
the  right,  if  it  could  be  done.  I  may  therefore  repeat, 
with  some  degree  of  assurance  that  I  am  correct,  a  re 
mark  I  have  heretofore  made — that  the  events  of  hu- 


208  LIFE  AND    OPINIONS  OF 

man  life,  except  as  they  affect  the  immortal  soul,  are 
of  all  things  the  most  trivial. 

Except  for  this,  the  death  of  an  ox  is  of  more  import 
ance  than  the  death  of  any  man  not  the  property  of  an 
other  ;  a  timely  shower  of  rain  is  of  more  real  moment 
than  a  nation's  mourning;  and  the  accurate  fit  of  a 
young  lady's  ball-dress  of  quite  as  real  cause  for  con 
cern  as  the  adjustment  of  the  balance  of  power  in  Eu 
rope.  Birth  is  important  because  it  brings  a  soul  into 
being,  to  act  and  suffer.  Life  and  death  are  of  import 
ance  because  of  the  manner  in  which  the  soul  is  em 
ployed  during  life,  and  the  time  and  circumstances  of 
its  fate  being  sealed  by  death. 

Where  are  the  friends  of  my  youth  ?  Dead.  Where 
are  the  friends  of  my  early  manhood?  Dead.  Where 
those  of  my  prime  ?  Dead.  And  their  fathers  are 
dead,  and  their  children  must  all  die.  Of  what  import 
ance  is  it  to  them  whether  they  have  been  wise  or  fool 
ish,  rich  or  poor,  good  or  bad,  loved  or  hated  ?  Their 
works  live  after  them ;  the  trees  they  planted  flourish, 
the  houses  they  builded  are  a  pleasant  shelter,  the  ex 
amples  they  set  and  the  lessons  they  taught  still  affect 
others;  but  their  hopes,  and  joys,  and  sorrows,  their 
disappointments  and  pleasures  and  pains,  which  made 
life  all  in  all  to  them, — where  are  they  ? 

Does  all  this  sound  trite?  Know  then,  oh  man, 
that  religion  and  politics,  and  all  moral  relations  center 
in  this  fact  you  call  trite.  Except  the  plan  of  salva 
tion,  it  is  the  greatest  fact  you  ever  knew  or  can  know 
on  earth.  If  it  be  trite  to  you,  show  by  your  conduct 
that  you  know  and  appreciate  it.  You  will  then  be 
unreasonable  in  neither  your  desires  nor  your  disap- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  209 

pointments.  You  shall  then  perhaps  be  better  able  to 
understand  and  humbly  submit  to  the  government  of 
God;  and  may  possibly  see  a  fitness  and  propriety  in 
the  slaughter  of  the  Canaanites,  and  in  the  ravages 
permitted  to  conquerors,  and  committed  to  pestilences, 
which  shall  lead  you  to  admit  that  at  least  the  Ruler 
of  the  world  may  be  just  and  good  as  well  as  powerful 
and  wise. 

I  may  be  pardoned  these  grave  reflections  when  it  is 
remembered  that  I  am  writing  as  a  duty  which  will  be 
ill  performed  if  it  do  not  lead  to  serious  benefit.  That 
I  should  have  married  is  certainly  none  of  your  busi 
ness.  Nor,  if  my  object  were  to  amuse  you,  would  I 
mention  it — for  there  was  nothing  funny  about  it  either 
to  myself  or  my  wife.  Like  every  other  event  worth 
rejoicing  over,  it  was  worth  being  thoughtful  about; 
and  when  it  is  considered  that  I  have  been  left  alone 
of  all  who  rejoiced  at  my  wedding,  the  connection  be 
tween  the  narration  of  my  marriage  and  what  I  have 
here  said  will  be  admitted  to  be  natural. 

But  of  course  my  feelings,  when  I  pronounced  my 
vows,  did  not  dwell  on  death  and  sorrow.  They  were 
tender  and  compassionate,  as  must  be  those  of  every 
gentleman  upon  such  an  occasion. 

What  a  beast  the  man  is  who  regards  his  wife  as 
but  the  morsel  for  his  appetite,  or  the  slave  for  his 
comfort !  I  thank  God  that  I  have  all  my  life  had  a 
profound  respect  and  tender  solicitude  for  woman,  old 
and  young,  gentle  and  simple,  for  now,  in  my  old  age, 
I  am  not  disposed  to  retire  from  the  herd  to  some  soli 
tary  spot,  but  can  still  find  rational  and  pure  pleasure 
in  her  society. 

18*  o 


210  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

IT  was  then  the  usual  fashion  to  marry  on  Thursday, 
which  gave  two  or  three  days  to  prepare  and  two 
days  to  right-up  after  the  festivities;  but  whenever  it 
was,  for  any  cause,  more  convenient,  it  was  in  rule  to 
marry  on  Tuesday.  We  were  married  a  Tuesday, 
and  moved  to  our  new  house  on  Thursday  morning — 
in  the  lumbering  family  carriage,  surnamed  by  the 
young  men  in  town  "The  Swan." 

The  common  mode  of  conveyance  at  that  time,  both 
for  ladies  and  gentlemen,  was  on  horseback,  or  in  gigs, 
or  sulkies  hung  high  on  leather  and  wooden  springs. 
Some  few  of  the  wealthiest  families  had  carriages — 
great  unwieldy  machines  which  could  run  only  on  the 
main  roads.  But  these  vehicles  were  so  few  in  num 
ber,  and  therefore  so  remarkable,  that  each  was  named 
by  the  young  men  in  town  from  some  fancied  resem 
blance  or  association.  Colonel  Stewart's,  on  account 
of  its  rotund  capacity,  was  called  "The  Globe;"  Mr. 
Mclntyre's,  from  the  distance  in  front  at  which  the 
driver's  seat  was  placed,  "The  Swan;"  that  of  Mr. 
Harkness  was  "  The  Mortgage,"  from  its  weightiness 
and  the  manner  in  which  it  had  been  obtained — and 
so  on. 

The  negroes  given  to  Mary  by  her  father  had  been 
already,  the  week  before,  settled  by  him  in  their  quar. 
ters,  and  put  to  work  repairing  fences,  cutting  briers, 
and  getting  fire-wood — -under  the  superintendence  of  a 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  211 

young  man  named  Tomlinson,  who  was  a  good  man 
ager  ;  and,  by-the-by,  became  afterward,  by  luck  and 
economy,  a  very  rich  man.  There  were  ten  hands — 
four  of  them  women,  with  their  four  husbands,  and 
their  children,  and  the  other  two  young  single  men. 

The  yard  had  been  stocked  by  Mrs.  Mclntyre  with 
chickens — among  which  were  all  Mary's  favorites  she 
had  raised  and  taught  to  love  her  as  their  providence — 
and  turkeys,  ducks,  and  guinea-chickens;  which,  as 
the  first-comers  and  already  habituated,  gave  their 
fair  mistress  a  noisy  welcome  as  the  carriage  drove  up. 

The  house  was  a  frame  building,  fronting  to  the 
south,  and  built,  about  six  years  before,  of  lumber 
sawed  at  Brown's  saw-mill,  about  two  miles  above  us 
on  the  creek.  It  was  raised  on  brick-pillars  about  four 
feet  from  the  ground,  and  had  a  broad  gallery  both  in 
front  and  in  the  rear.  A  wide  hall  divided  it  in  the 
center,  and  into  it  two  rooms  opened  on  each  side. 
The  two  on  the  west  were  the  parlor  and  dining-room ; 
the  front  room  on  the  east  we  chose  as  our  bed-room, 
because  it  gave  us  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun 
through  the  screen  of  forest  trees  around  the  house, 
and  was  sheltered  from  the  fierce  heat  of  the  summer 
afternoons.  The  room  adjoining  was  also  a  bed-room, 
and  with  another  neat  room,  which  had  been  added  as 
a  wing  to  the  eastern  side  of  the  house,  at  the  rear, 
and  opened  both  into  our  back  room  and  on  the  back 
gallery,  and  an  office  in  the  front  yard,  about  twenty 
yards  from  the  house,  into  which  I  could  stow  my 
brothers  and  their  boy  friends,  gave  us  plenty  of  ac 
commodation  for  all  the  visitors  we  were  likely  to  have, 
for  some  years  at  least. 


212  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

Although  I  was  quite  as  hopeful  a  man  as  my 
father,  I  did  not  have  to  build  my  house,  and  could 
put  off  additions  to  a  more  convenient  or  necessary 
time.  For  the  present,  even  to  the  kitchen,  which  was 
in  the  yard  at  the  northwest  corner  of  the  house,  all 
was  large  enough,  and  in  good  order. 

East  of  the  house,  and  coming  up  to  within  twenty 
yards  of  it,  was  Mary's  flower-garden  ;  in  which  were 
also  fifteen  hives  of  bees  I  had  taken,  with  the  place, 
from  Mr.  Yandle.  On  the  northern  side  of  the  flower- 
garden  was  the  carriage-house,  as  we  called  it,  which 
contained  the  bran-new  gig  I  had  purchased  for  our 
use;  and  beyond  that  were  the  barn  and  stable,  and 
then  came  a  strip  of  wood  on  the  side  of  the  decliv 
ity,  from  the  foot  of  which  the  field  stretched  to  the 
east  and  southeast  down  to  the  creek.  West  of  the 
house,  and  also  near  it,  was  my  vegetable-garden,  in 
which  I  soon  took  great  pride  and  pleasure ;  and  near 
that  on  the  northwest  of  the  house,  about  three  hun 
dred  yards  off,  was  the  quarters — behind  which  were 
the  gardens  and  little  patches  of  the  negroes. 

The  public  road,  about  three  hundred  yards  in  front  of 
the  house,  ran  east  from  Yatton  until  it  came  to  my  field, 
which  it  skirted  for  a  mile  to  the  southeast,  where  it 
crossed  the  creek  on  a  puncheon  bridge.  There  was  no 
fence  between  the  house  and  the  lane  through  which  the 
road  ran,  and  which  was  formed  by  the  yard  inclosure 
and  the  fence  of  the  woods  pasture  beyond.  This  land  in 
front  of  the  house  was  level  for  about  seventy-five  yards, 
and  then  declined  gently  to  the  lane,  its  surface  broken 
only  by  several  swells  and  shallow  hollows,  except  on 
the  west,  where  a  deeper  "hollow  ran  almost  up  to  the 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  213 

quarters,  and  gave  exit  to  the  water  from  the  spring 
which  supplied  my  whole  family  with  drinking  water. 
Many  of  the  original  forest  trees  had  been  left  on  this 
expanse,  and  it  was  dotted — just  far  enough  apart  to 
allow  a  luxuriant  sward  of  grass  to  grow — with  oaks 
and  magnolias,  poplars  and  elms,  with  here  and  there 
a  sweet-gum  in  the  bottom. 

If  you  should  think  that  I  have  been  too  minute  in 
this  description  of  our  place,  remember,  if  you  please, 
that  it  may  some  day  arrive  to  you,  too,  that  memory, 
and  not  fancy,  shall  bring  your  paradise  to  view.  Fond 
recollection  is  all  the  old  man  has  of  the  comfort  and 
happiness  of  his  youth.  The  house  is  here  still,  and  I 
sit,  lonely,  and  write  in  the  bed-room  to  which,  fifty- 
one  years  ago,  I  brought  my  bride — and  with  her 
brought  light,  and  life,  and  joyful  hope.  My  feeble 
footsteps  take  me  through  the  rooms  where  once 
the  gentle  mistress  dispensed  order  and  comfort; 
and  along  the  paths  in  wood  and  garden,  where  she 
stepped  lightly  at  my  side,  and  ever  and  anon  looked 
lovingly  in  my  face,  as  we  talked  with  serious  gayety 
of  the  improvements  we  should  make  to  form  our  home 
an  Eden.  The  trees  which  shaded  us  are  here,  the 
roses  bloom  in  the  spots  she  planted  roses,  and  nature 
is  vigorous  and  smiling  as  it  was  when  she  made  it  all 
so  lovely  to  me — but  my  Love  is  not  here !  My  Dar 
ling!  oh,  my  Darling!  where  are  you?  Does  your 
spirit  lie  unconscious  in  God's  secret  place?  or  does  it 
live  happy  and  hopeful  in  the  plains  of  heaven  ?  or  does 
it  hover  near  me  now,  and  sympathize  with  the  yearn 
ing  heart,  and  long  to  wipe  away  the  tears  which  flow 
down  the  cheeks  of  your  poor  husband  ?  Oh,  my 


LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

precious  one !  God  was  good  to  give  us  to  each  other ; 
and  I  shall  not  cavil  that  he  took  you  from  me ;  but  it 
was  hard  to  bear.  These  many  years  have  I  been 
lonely,  oh,  so  lonely!  waiting  to  join  you;  and  I  have 
feared  unholy  thoughts,  and  tried  to  live  an  humble, 
Christian  life,  lest  in  the  end  I  should  be  separated 
from  you ;  and  am  so  weary  1  My  Love !  my  Love  ! 
my  heart  is  breaking ! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

fTHHE  following  week  came  our  infair,  a  grand  occa- 
JL  sion,  at  my  father's,  and  then  a  round  of  parties 
in  our  honor  given  by  our  friends  in  the  county,  all  of 
which  we  attended — I,  dressed  as  a  bridegroom,  in  my 
blue  cloth  dress-coat  with  metal  buttons,  my  buff  small 
clothes,  buckled  pumps,  white  vest,  and  ruffled  shirt, 
driving  my  wife  in  our  gig  as  proudly  as  the  charioteer 
of  the  goddess  Diana. 

The  spring  came  on  open  and  fair,  and  under  Tom- 
linson's  superintendence,  the  negroes  worked  well  and 
quietly.  My  crop  was  pitched  in  season,  and  came  up 
well.  When  the  spring  term  of  the  court  came  on,  I 
appeared  at  the  bar,  and  among  my  fellow-citizens, 
with  the  more  assured  air  of  a  man.  It  seemed  to  me 
I  felt  a  greater  breadth  and  precision  of  mind  than  I 
had  ever  felt  before,  and  all  my  business  was  happily 
transacted.  The  practice  almost  began  to  be  agreea 
ble,  as  it  was  for  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  Mary  I 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  215 

worked.  The  familiar  tone  of  my  acquaintances  and 
former  schoolmates  was  more  respectful,  for  I  was  no 
longer  "Abraham  Page,  the  good  old  fellow,  who  has 
nothing  better  to  do  than  to  enter  into  your  pranks,  or 
keep  them  concealed."  I  was  Mr.  Abraham  Page,  who 
had  a  wife,  and  had  become  a  settled  pillar  of  the  State. 
Even  Stanley  Ruggles,  though  he  was  Mary's  relative, 
became  more  friendly  than  familiar,  and  was  alert  to 
sell  me  ribbons  and  laces,  measure  off  cloth  and  cam 
bric,  and  show  a  solicitude  for  my  custom ;  whereas, 
before,  it  was,  "You  Abe,  you  don't  want  to  buy  any 
thing.  Where  are  you  going  this  evening?  Let's  go 
around  to  Squire  Carter's !" 

My  father,  too,  and  my  mother  and  sisters,  seemed 
to  feel  at  last  that  I  was  a  grown  man,  and  tacitly  to 
acknowledge  that  I  had  other  cares  and  other  duties 
than  those  which  clustered  around  our  dear  old  home. 

Every  day  of  my  married  life  I  had  reason  to  admire 
more  exactly  and  to  love  more  tenderly  the  woman  God 
had  given  ine.  Her  gentleness  was  a  continual  rebuke 
to  my  hastiness  of  opinion  and  speech  ;  her  thoughtful 
kindness  for  others  kept  my  selfishness  always  in 
shame  •  her  uncomplaining  spirit  hushed  my  restless 
discontent  at  the  little  annoyances  to  which  nature  and 
a  household  are  subject;  and  the  sweet  sprightliness 
of  her  wit,  and  the  delicate  playfulness  of  her  humor, 
were  a  constant  surprise  and  delight. 

In  the  long  hot  summer  afternoons  to  lie  upon  a  pal 
let  in  the  wide,  cool  hall,  and  hear  the  cocks  flapping 
their  wings  and  crowing  around  the  house,  and  the 
guineas  going  about  leisurely,  or  chasing  each  other 
here  and  there  in  the  yard,  vociferating  po-track!  pot- 


21(>  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

rack!  and  the  English  ducks  whispering  and  quacking 
about  the  steps,  and  the  pigeons  cooing  upon  the  house 
top,  was  almost  like  a  dream  of  peace  and  content 
ment  ;  and  then  to  have  her  near  me  busily  engaged 
at  some  housewifely  sewing,  and  as  her  nimble  fingers 
deftly  stitched,  and  snipped,  and  turned  and  stitched 
again,  to  hear  her  describe  perhaps  some  visit  she  had 
made  in  her  girlhood  among  her  friends,  and  the  grav 
ity  of  this  one,  the  affectation  of  that,  and  the  offended 
dignity  of  the  other,  until  realizing  fully  how  ridiculous 
the  scene  was  as  it  came  again  vividly  before  her,  her 
merry  girlish  laughter  would  fill  my  soul  with  tender 
ness  and  pride  rather  than  with  mirth,  and  I  would 
wish  in  my  heai't  that  all  the  world  could  see  and  ad 
mire  her  beauty,  and  wit,  and  goodness.  Or  if  she 
spoke  of  some  quarrel  of  her  girlhood,  or  we  discussed 
some  wrong  which  had  been  done  her  (except  what 
Mrs.  Snow  had  said  against  me,  which  she  appropri 
ated  to  her  own  account),  to  hear  her  find  a  good  reason 
for  her  enemy,  and  an  excuse  for  the  wrong  done,  was 
worth  a  thousand  sermons  on  charity,  and  did  more  to 
soften  my  asperities  than  all  my  reading,  prudence,  and 
reflection  put  together. 

Often  my  sister-in-law,  Sarah,  would  stay  with  us  for 
a  week  or  two,  and  either  she,  or  one,  or  both  of  my 
own  sisters  (and  sometimes  all  three  at  once),  were 
there  always ;  for  I  had  to  be  in  my  office  in  town 
every  day  until  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and 
it  would  not  have  done  for  Mary  to  have  remained  alone 
and  unprotected.  Lucy  Mcrriweather  stayed  over 
night  with  us  frequently  when  she  came  up  from  her 
husband's  place  to  shop  in  town ;  and  every  Sunday 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  217 

that  the  weather  was  fair  Mrs.,  and  often  Mr.  Mclntyro, 
would  take  with  us  an  early  dinner,  so  as  to  get  home 
before  night.  My  two  brothers  also  used  to  come  out 
nearly  every  Friday  evening  after  school,  so  as  to  start 
early  Saturday  morning  fishing  or  hunting. 

These,  with  my  father  and  mother,  who  often  came, 
and  some  few  intimate  friends,  were  all  of  our  vis 
itors,  except  those  who  came  to  make  fashionable 
calls. 

And  so  the  summer  wore  on  into  fall.  The  rain 
had  come  just  when  my  corn  needed  it  most.  My 
cotton  had  escaped  blight,  and  rust,  and  worms,  and 
sore-shin,  and  shedding,  and  all  the  enemies  and  dis 
eases  to  which  cotton  is  subject,  and  the  hands  were 
picking  full  weight  all  through  November.  The  fall 
term  of  the  court  showed,  too,  that  I  was  a  thriving 
man,  for  my  docket  was  almost  double  what  it  was  be 
fore,  and  with  paying  cases  too.  But  in  the  midst  of 
all  this  prosperity,  I  had  care  on  my  heart.  My  Mary 
had  to  pass  through  her  first  ordeal  of  maternity ;  and 
when,  early  in  December,  I  found  myself  the  father  of 
a  perfect  and  healthy  boy,  my  joy  and  gratitude  knew 
no  bounds — not  so  much  for  the  gift  as  for  the  safety 
of  the  beloved  sufferer. 

The  desire  of  man  to  have  posterity  is  nigh  akin  to 
his  instinctive  aspiration  for  immortality,  and  his 
trouble  at  not  having  a  successor  from  his  own  loins 
is  nothing  but  a  modification  of  his  natural  dread  of 
annihilation.  And  yet,  it  is  my  opinion,  there  is  too 
much  certain  pain,  and  probable  danger,  accompanying 
the  gratification  of  his  desire,  to  warrant  his  praying 
for  it  as  though  he  would  take  no  refusal.  Whatever 
19 


218  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

may  be  his  course  with  regard  to  other  earthly  blow 
ings,  it  seems  to  me  that  in  view  of  the  safety  of  the 
mother  and  the  life,  and  conduct  of  the  child  during  its 
life, — all  of  which  must  be  taken  into  count  in  estima 
ting  whether  it  be  a  blessing  or  no — it  is  good  policy 
in  this  case  to  add  to  his  prayer  the  clauses  "if  it  be 
best,"  and  "  Thy  will  be  done." 

I  could  think  at  first  but  little  of  the  child ;  my 
thoughts  were  with  the  mother,  the  proud  and  happy 
mother,  whose  greatest  joy  seemed  to  be  that,  though 
at  such  risk  and  pain,  she  had  added  to  my  happiness. 

Ah,  how  little  do  men  comprehend  of  the  love  of 
their  wives !  How  little  did  I,  who  loved  so  well,  and, 
as  I  thought,  so  sensibly,  appreciate  the  nature  and  in 
tensity  of  Mary's  love  for  me !  She  would  willingly 
have  borne  all  my  pains  and  aches  to  have  me  escape 
them — as  she  bravely  suffered  her  own  because  she 
thought  it  was  to  give  me  pleasure.  If  a  day  were 
fair,  it  was  well  because  I  could  prosecute  my  plans, 
or  not  be  exposed  to  get  wet  as  I  rode  to  and  from  my 
business ;  if  it  were  foul,  it  was  ill  because  my  schemes 
were  thwarted,  or  my  comfort  lessened.  If  she  thought 
I  desired  a  "thing  it  was  as  though  I  had  ordered  it ;  if 
she  imagined  I  disapproved  an  action  it  was  as  impos 
sible  to  be  done  as  though  it  could  not  be  done.  Present 
or  absent  from  her,  my  comfort,  my  likes  and  dislikes, 
and  my  welfare  were  always  in  her  thoughts  to  shape 
her  actions. 

And  yet,  if  I  ever  saw  a  woman  capable  of  discre 
tion — yea,  and  able  to  assert  her  own  will  upon  proper 
occasions;  if  I  ever  knew  a  woman  fitted  to  guide  a 
man  or  her  child  through  the  snares  of  life,  and  even 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  219 

of  business,  she  was  that  woman.  Many  a  time  she 
seemed  to  know  intuitively  what  I  had  not  yet  discov 
ered,  warned  me  of  what  I,  a  business  man,  had  not 
even  suspected,  and  suggested  to  me  what  I  just  then 
most  needed  to  know. 

In  a  few  weeks  she  had  fully  recovered  her  strength, 
and  her  beauty  assumed  that  indefinable  gentleness  of 
perfection  added  by  the  tender  joy  and  solicitude  of 
motherhood.  The  child  grew  to  be  a  plump,  good- 
natured,  rosy  little  fellow,  and  nestled  in  niy  heart,  all 
the  dearer  that  he  was  my  Mary's  flesh  and  blood  and 
pain,  and  resembled  her;  while  to  the  inexpressible 
tenderness  of  my  love  to  her  was  added  the  thought 
that  she  was  the  mother  of  my  child. 

There  can  be  nothing  more  charming  than  the  sight 
of  a  young  mother  with  her  child  where  both  are  bright 
and  healthy.  Even  when  both,  or  either,  shall  be  sickly 
there  is  a  sad  pathos  about  it  which  nothing  else  pre 
sents;  but  when  there  is  no  such  cloud  to  mar  the 
picture,  it  is  simply  charming.  Her  alarmed  ignorance 
of  how  it  should  be  handled  or  should  be  treated  for  its 
little  ailments,  is  charming ;  her  brooding  love  when  it 
is  quieted,  or  when  it  sleeps,  her  little  jealousies  of  the 
attentions  of  others  to  the  precious  object,  her  offended 
pride  at  any  seeming  lack  of  attention  to  it,  or  of  ad 
miration  of  it,  her  loving  talk,  and  her  grave  instruc 
tions  to  it,  its  helplessness,  and  often  its  pleading 
smiles, — all,  can  be  fitly  expressed  by  no  other  word 
than  charming. 

There  was  another  thing,  I  well  remember,  which 
puts  the  crowning  touch  of  holiness  to  this  picture  of 
my  married  life.  Mary,  though  a  sprightly,  spirited 


220  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

woman,  was  at  all  times  very  hnmble  and  trustful  in 
her  religious  impressions  and  belief,  but  now  that  she 
felt  the  destiny  of  her  little  one  committed  to  her,  she 
became  even  more  humble  and  more  trustful. 

She  had  said  to  me  one  day,  soon  after  our  marriage, 
when  she  had  become  sufficiently  familiar  with  me  to 
make  such  a  suggestion  :  "Don't  you  think,  husband," 
— she  called  me  husband,  the  sweetest  word  which 
ever  came  from  beloved  lips! — "don't  you  think,  hus 
band,  that  we  ought  to  say  our  prayers  together  ?  We 
have  so  much  to  be  thankful  and  hopeful  for!"  And 
as  she  persuasively  put  her  arms  about  my  neck,  I  felt 
so  grateful  to  the  Author  of  all  good,  and  so  dependent 
upon  Him  for  a  continuance  of  my  blessings,  that  I 
assented  at  once.  It  was  embarrassing  at  first  to  pra}r 
aloud,  even  with  my  wife ;  but  that  soon  wore  off,  and 
we  ever  after  kept  up  the  custom.  The  expression, 
"O  Thou  that  hearest  prayer!"  is  to  me  the  most 
touching  appeal  to  God  in  the  whole  Bible.  Unless 
man  could  pray,  and  knew  that  God  heard  and  answered 
prayer,  he  would  be  the  most  unutterably  wretched  of 
created  beings.  Surely,  the  chiefest  torment  of  hell 
must  be  that  the  damned  cannot  pray  with  hope  ! 

But  one  day, — it  was  the  Sunday  our  little  David 
was  baptized, — when  we  had  come  from  church,  I  no 
ticed  that  she  was  unusually  thoughtful,  and  sometimes 
looked  at  me  wistfully;  so  I  asked  her  what  she  wished 
me  to  do,  and  she  answered  with  a  pleading,  and  but 
half-assured  air :  "  Husband,  why  don't  you  join  the 
Church?" 

As  my  answer  to  this  question  was  rather  long,  and 
may  seem  very  dry,  I  will  give  it  in  a  separate  chap- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  221 

ter,  so  that  it  may  be  the  more  readily  skipped, — 
though  it  is  in  reality  the  most  important  answer  to  a 
question  I  ever  made  in  my  life. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


,  why  don't  you  join  the  Church?" 
JLJL  "What  Church,  my  dear?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  she,  "I  would  prefer  you 
should  join  the  Presbyterian  Church,  as  I  am  a  mem 
ber  of  it  ;  but  if  that  does  not  suit  you,  join  any  other 
Church  you  please,  so  you  join  some." 

"But,  my  darling,"  asked  I,  -"why  should  I  join  a 
Church  ?» 

"  That  you  may  obey  the  command,"  she  replied, 
"and  acknowledge  Christ  before  men." 

"  But  I  do  acknowledge  Christ  before  men,  my  dear," 
said  I  ;  "I  have  repeatedly  done  so  in  my  speeches  and 
my  published  communications  to  the  Yatton  Gazette, 
and  always  do  so  in  my  conversation  when  it  is  proper 
or  necessary.  All  who  know  me  know  that  I  have  no 
other  hope  of  salvation  than  Christ  our  Saviour.  Why 
then  should  I  join  a  Church  ?" 

"I,  for  one,  believe  that  you  are  a  Christian,  hus 
band  ;  and  if  you  be,  why  should  you  not  join  a 
Church  ?"  she  replied. 

"I  will  tell  you,  Mrs.  Page,"  said  I,  assuming  a  tone 
and  gesture  of  mock  gravity,  for  I  knew  I  was  about 
to  shock  her  life-long  prejudices,  and  instinctively  acted 
19* 


222  LIFE  A^D   OPINIONS  OF 

as  though  I  were  a  little  iu  jest,  so  as  to  ease  the  blow. 
''I  will  tell  you,  Mrs.  Page,  if  you  will  lend  me  your 
ears,  which,  by-the-by,  are  very  pretty  ears,  my  dear, 
almost  too  precious  to  lend ;  but  let  me  whisper  my 
reason  into  one  of  them.  The  reason  is — because — I 
— am — a — Christian. " 

"Oh,  husband!"  exclaimed  she. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  I  went  on,  "the  reason  why  I  do 
not  join  the  Presbyterian,  or  the  Methodist,  or  Baptist, 
or  Episcopal,  or  Catholic  Church,  or  any  other  of  the 
so-called  Churches,  is  that  I  am  a  Christian,  and  can 
not  conscientiously  do  so." 

"Oh,  husband,  how  you  grieve  me  !"  said  she. 

"  Have  a  little  patience,  my  love,  and  do  not  grieve, 
but  try  to  understand  me.  I  often  talk  solemn  non 
sense  or  jesting  wisdom  to  you ;  but  I  am  now  in  se 
rious  earnest,  and  am  giving  you  my  profoundest  con 
victions. 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Mary  ?" 

"Why,  you  know  that  I  do  !"  she  answered. 

"  Save  me,  then,  from  the  penalties  of  my  sins !"  I 
exclaimed.  "Please  to  save  me  !" 

"But  I  cannot  do  that,  husband.  You  must  work 
out  your  own  salvation." 

"What!  can't  you  interpose  in  some  way  for  me? 
have  faith  for  me  ?  be  holy  for  me  ?  Then,  upon  my 
word,  I  think  I  should  be  unwise  to  trust  a  gross,  and, 
perhaps,  a  very  impure  man ,  young  or  old,  when  a  re 
fined  and  innocent  woman,  with  perhaps  tenfold  his 
intellect,  cannot  help  me  " 

"Ah,  husband,  I  knew  you  were  jesting,"  said  she, 
relieved,  and  smiling. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  223 

"  Indeed,  and  I  am  very  far  from  jesting,  my  love. 
You  will  admit  that  you  cannot  save  me,  though  you 
should  have  all  faith,  all  holiness,  and  should  pray  un 
ceasingly.  Perhaps  my  baptism  may  save  me  ?  No  ? 
Or  the  Eucharist  ?  No  !  Well,  will  joining  the  Church, 
and  praying  and  singing,  and  being  preached  to,  and 
blessed,  and  absolved,  by  priests  or  preachers  in  vest 
ments  or  without  them,  with  lighted  tapers  and  with 
crucifixes  all  about,  or  in  bare  walls,  and  with  a  deal- 
board  pulpit  save  -me  ?" 

"Certainly  not,"  she  answered;  "nothing  can  save 
yon  but  the  Spirit  of  God  working  faith  in  you.  Christ 
Jesus  is  the  only  Saviour." 

"Ah,  my  wife,  you  have  hit  the  truth  exactly.  If  I 
be  saved  at  all  it  must  be  by  faith  in  the  atonement 
made  by  Jesus  Christ,  and  I  must  have  that  faith  for 
myself.  I  stand  perfectly  independent  of  every  and  all 
other  men  in  the  matter,  which  is  purely  personal  to 
myself.  I  answer  for  my  own  sins,  and  am  answerable 
for  my  own  righteousness.  Suppose,  then,  that  I  have 
saving  faith,  and  am  a  true  Christian,  '  an  heir  of  God, 
and  a  joint-heir  with  Christ,'  can  the  Rev.  Mr.  Snow 
or  Father  Geoghagan  be  any  more  justified  and  more 
privileged  than  I  ?  Am  I  not  a  Priest  and  a  King  ? 
and  who  can  be  more  a  Priest  and  a  King? 

"  Why  then  should  I  lay  aside  my  Priesthood  and 
join  a  Church  as  a  mere  Layman  ?  Why  should  I  lay 
aside  my  heirship  and  become  a  slave  ?  If  I  be  a  King, 
what  man  can  be  my  Spiritual  Lord  ? 

"It  is  a  contradiction  of  terms,  my  dear,  to  say 
Methodist  Christian,  or  Roman  Catholic  Christian — 
for  iu.  so  far  as  one  is  a  Christian  he  is  neither  Roman 
Catholic  nor  Protestant. 


224  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

"The  grand,  fundamental  doctrine  of  Christianity, 
and  that  which  adapts  it  to  all  humanity  of  every  na 
tion  and  degree,  and  by  which  alone  it  can  be  expected 
to  conquer  the  kingdom  for  Christ,  is  the  Atonement 
— that  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  lived,  and  vica 
riously  suffered,  and  died,  and  rose  again,  to  save  men. 
The  Roman  Catholics  believe  this,  and  so  do  all  men 
who  call  themselves  Christians,  and  it  is  this  alone 
which  makes  them  Christians  rather  than  moral  men, 
to  be  saved  by  their  own  good  deeds.  If  anything 
besides,  though  ever  so  slightly  besides,  the  atonement 
of  Christ,  be  necessary  for  man's  salvation,  then  Christ 
is  only  partially  the  Mediator  and  Saviour.  If,  in 
addition  to  faith  in  Christ  Jesus,  I  am  to  believe  in 
Transubstantiation,  or  Election,  or  Falling  from  Gi'ace, 
or  if,  in  addition  to  proving  my  faith  by  my  works, 
I  am  to  practice  certain  genuflexions,  and  prayers, 
and  certain  rites  and  ceremonies;  if  I  am  necessarily 
to  have  taken  the  Eucharist,  or  to  have  been  bap 
tized — then  the  atonement  of  Christ  is  not  sufficient!" 

"But,  husband,"  she  interposed.  "  Do  you  not  think 
we  should  be  baptized  and  should  take  the  Lord's 
supper  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  do,  my  love,  and  every  true  Christian, 
if  he  have  the  opportunity,  will  do  both.  But  he  will 
do  so  because  he  will  love  to  obey  his  Lord,  and  well 
knows  the  spiritual  benefits  ho  receives  by  such  obedi 
ence, — and  not  because  he  expects  to  be  saved  by  either 
ceremony.  He  will  also  obey  all  the  other  commands 
of  his  Lord,  for  the  same  reason,  and  because  if  he  have 
faith,  it  naturally  manifests  itself  by  good  works.  But 
if  he  obey  with  the  hope  of  saving  himself  by  that 
obedience,  he  is  a  slave,  and  not  a  true  son. 


AP.RAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  225 

"Now,  my  dear,  if  my  salvation  be  purely  personal 
to  myself,  and  if  I  am  to  be  saved  not  by  my  own 
works,  or  the  works  of  any  other  man  or  men,  but  only 
through  the  atonement  of  Christ  Jesus,  why  should  I 
join  a  Church  ? 

"Faith  in  Jesus  Christ  alone  makes  the  Christian; 
and  as  none  are  his  who  have  not  that  faith,  and  all 
are  his  who  have  that  faith,  Chi'ist's  kingdom  is  a  unit, 
and  his  kingdom  is  entirely  a  spiritual  kingdom.  It  is 
a  gross  error,  my  dear  wife,  to  suppose  that  there  has 
to  be  a  temporal  organization  corresponding  with  this 
spiritual  kingdom.  Nay,  it  is  the  gross  error  from, 
which  all  the  rest  have  sprung.  It  is  the  Image  set  up 
in  the  plain  of  Dura.  Here  is  the  Bible,  I  will  turn  to 
the  seventeenth  chapter  of  Revelations,  the  third  verse : 

" '  So  he  carried  me  aAvay  in  the  spirit  into  the  wil 
derness  :  and  I  saw  a  woman  sit  upon  a  scarlet-colored 
beast,  full  of  names  of  blasphemy,  having  seven  heads 
and  ten  horns.  And  the  woman  was  arrayed  in  purple 
and  scarlet-color,  and  decked  with  gold  and  precious 
stones  and  pearls,  having  a  golden  cup  in  her  hand  full 
of  abominations  and  filthiness  of  her  fornication  :  and 
upon  her  forehead  was  a  name  written,  MYSTERY, 
BABYLON  THE  GREAT,  THE  MOTHER  OP 
HARLOTS  AND  ABOMINATIONS  OF  THE 
EARTH.  And  I  saw  the  woman  drunken  with  the 
blood  of  the  saints,  and  with  the  blood  of  the  martyrs 
of  Jesus :  and  when  I  saw  her  I  wondered  with  great 
admiration.' 

"  Now  you  know,  ray  dear,  that  I  do  not  pretend  to 
be  wiser  than  the  pious  and  learned  men  who  have  tried 
to  interpret  the  Revelations;  but  when  I  know  that 
these  visions  seen  in  the  spirit  must  be  taken  spiritually, 
and  when  I  see  so  many  facts  bearing  out  this  inter- 

p 


220  Ln''K  A^'>    OPINIONS   OF 

pretation,  I  may,  at  least,  be  pardoned  for  thinking 
that  this  error  is  Babylon  '  drunken  with  the  blood  of 
the  saints  and  with  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  of  Jesus,' 
supporting  itself  upon  the  civil  authority  of  the  State; 
for  certainly  the  eiforts,  with  the  Roman,  the  Grecian, 
and  the  Protestant  Churches  to  establish  and  maintain 
this  temporal  organization,  have  been  in  the  spirit  with 
which  the  Image  was  set  up  at  Babylon,  and  have  been 
the  fruitful  cause  of  all  the  spiritual  and  most  of  the 
temporal  woes  which  have  distracted  Christendom  in 
all  its  ages. 

"  Look  at  the  progress  of  Christianity,  my  love.  At 
first  there  were  churches  established  at  Jerusalem,  at 
Corinth,  Laodicea,  Rome,  Athens,  and  many  other 
places.  These  churches  were  simply  associations  of 
those  who  believed  in  the  atonement  of  Christ  for  the 
purposes  of  mutual  encouragement  and  benefit,  spiritual 
and  temporal.  They  all  had  unity  of  faith  in  Christ, 
and  each  had  its  own  internal  regulations  independent 
of  the  others.  There  were  diversities  of  gifts,  but  the 
same  spirit.  Read  what  Paul  says  on  the  subject  in 
the  twelfth  chapter  of  the  first  Epistle  to  the  Corin 
thians. 

"  All  the  members  of  these  churches,  and  all  other 
Christians,  if  any  other  there  then  were,  were  the  sub 
jects  of  Christ's  spiritual  kingdom  on  earth.  And  when 
the  Apostles  died,  they  died  without  delegating  to 
others  their  spiritual  authority — which  was  confined  to 
preaching  the  gospel,  and,  as  the  immediate  Ambassa 
dors  of  Christ,  and  guided  by  the  Spirit,  determining 
questions  of  faith  and  practice  in  order  to  the  establish 
ment  of  their  Master's  spiritual  kingdom — and  they  left 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  227 

no  prescribed  form  of  government.  Had  the  genius  of 
their  religion  either  allowed  or  demanded  a  temporal 
organization  corresponding  with  the  spiritual  consti 
tution  of  Christ's  kingdom,  do  you  suppose  a  matter 
of  such  vast  importance  would  not  have  been  care 
fully  provided  for  by  the  Master  and  his  Ambassadors? 
Had  it  been  possible  or  proper,  with  regard  to  the 
spiritual  priesthood  in  Christ's  kingdom,  to  have  desig 
nated  and  qualified  successors  in  authority,  do  you 
think  they  would  not  have  been  most  unmistakably 
designated,  and  most  infallibly  qualified  ?  But  it  was 
never  intended  that  such  an  organization  or  such  a 
hierarchy  should  exist.  Both  systems  are  opposed  to 
the  doctrine  of  personal  and  individual  salvation,. be 
sides  being  the  fountains  of  errors  innumerable. 

"These  different  associations  of  Christ's  subjects, 
then,  were  a  unit  in  the  matters  of  faith  in  Christ  and 
love  for  Christ  and  each  other,  though  they  were  far 
apart  and  solitary  among  heathen.  But  by  degrees 
the  gospel  spread,  the  associations  became  more  nu 
merous;  those  near  each  other  began  to  form  themselves, 
for  convenience  and  for  the  strength  of  union,  into  con 
federacies,  and  that  plan  working  with  surprising  effects, 
larger  confederacies  were  formed,  embracing  all  the  as 
sociations  of  a  State  or  province,  and  Rome,  Antioch, 
and  Alexandria  became  the  three  federal  representatives 
of  the  church  on  earth;  and  other  matters  than  Christ 
and  him  crucified  were  set  up  as  matters  for  faith,  and 
embraced  and  denied  according  to  temperament,  ca 
pacity,  or  education;  and  sanguinary  as  well  as  spirit 
ual  strife  was  engendered. 

"I  hope  you  are  not  tired,  my  dear?" 


228  L1FE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

"  No,  husband ;  go  on,  I  am  interested,"  she  answered. 

"In  Christ's  spiritual  kingdom,  my  dear,  there  is  but 
one  Head — Christ  himself.  If  there  bo  a  correspond 
ing  temporal  organization,  there  must  be  also  only  one 
head,  to  preserve  order  and  unity,  and  from  whom  shall 
emanate  all  power  to  preach,  baptize,  etc.  Now,  who 
is  that  to  be  ?  The  Catholics  say  the  Pope.  The 
Presbyterians  say  the  General  Assembly.  Some  say 
this,  some  say  that — as  they  all  must  say  something 
when  they  attempt  to  establish  this  organization. 

"Now,  let  us  see  how  the  scheme  has  worked,  and 
is  working.  Men  have  taken — and  when  I  say  men, 
just  reflect  for  a  moment  what  the  word  involves:  a 
set  of  creatures  weak  at  their  strongest,  foolish  at  their 
wisest,  selfish  at  their  best ;  creatures  who  may  be  ac 
tuated  by  ambition,  by  pride,  by  love  of  money,  by 
every  conceivable  base  motive!  Men,  according  to  their 
temperaments,  their  learning,  their  capacities,  and  the 
dictates  of  their  selfishness,  have  taken  certain  matters 
of  doctrine,  some  from  the  Bible,  some  from  tradition, 
some  for  convenience,  and  have  elevated  them  into  mat 
ters  of  faith  and  practice  far  above  the  gospel  of  glad 
tidings — the  doctrine  of  Christ  and  him  crucified — 
and  thus  formed  separate  churches.  This  is  what  was 
done  in  ancient  days  in  the  formation  of  the  Greek  and 
Latin  Churches,  and  what  has  been  done  in  more 
modern  times  in  the  establishment  of  the  Protestant 
Churches ; — a  vast  and  necessary  improvement  in  many 
things,  but  in  the  one  great  point  I  am  speaking  of,  an 
insufficient  reformation,  or  rather  a  change  than  a  re 
formation.  Taking  these  tenets,  in  accordance  with 
which  they  instituted  government  and  forms,  they  have 


ABHAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  229 

set  them  up,  styled  each  of  them  THE  CHURCH,  and 
called  upon  the  world  to  fall  down  and  worship.  The 
spirit  which  has  actuated  them  has  been  one  and  the 
same,  and  it  is  the  spirit  of  Babylon. 

"Now,  how  does  it  work?  There  are  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  men  living  this  day  who  arc  inclined  to  be 
numbered  among  nominal  Christians,  and  yet  who  can 
not  conscientiously  bow  down  and  worship,  and  are 
therefore  kept  from  the  real  spiritual  benefits  of  Christ's 
spiritual  kingdom  so  far  as  contained  in  the  ordinances 
of  baptism  and  the  Lord's  supper  and  in  'the  commu 
nion  of  saints.'  They  cannot  see  the  sense  of  many  of 
these  dogmas,  and  many  others  of  them  are  repugnant 
to  their  reason  or  prejudices.  They  cannot  become 
Catholics  or  Methodists,  Episcopalians  or  Baptists,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  they  cannot  conscientiously  sub 
scribe  to  the  dogmas  and  forms  of  government  which 
constitute  these  different  and  vastly  differing  sects.  Is 
it  to  be  supposed  that  the  great  Head  of  the  Church 
does  not  know  his  own  sheep  unless  they  have  the 
mark  of  some  human  branding-iron  ? 

"  I  conclude  then  that  a  man  may  be  a  Christian  with 
out  belonging  to  a  sect,  and  that  in  view  of  the  tremen 
dous  evils  accompanying  all  sects — which  means  here 
sies — he  is  the  better  Christian  by  holding  aloof  from 
them." 

"  But,  husband,  how  are  we  to  have  preaching,  and 
the  administration  of  the  Lord's  supper,  and  baptism, 
and  Bible  and  tract  and  mission  societies,  and  hospital 
associations,  and  all  those  things,  without  organization  ?" 

"  I  did  not  say,  my  dear,  that  there  was  to  be  no  or 
ganization,  but  merely  that  the  organization  should  be 
20 


030  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

very  different  from  what  it  is,  and  for  a  very  different 
purpose. 

"What  do  Mr.  Snow,  and  Father  Gcoghagan,  and  Mr. 
Surplice  say  induced  them  to  preach  ?  They  pretend 
that  they  were  called  of  God  to  that  service — nor  do 
I  doubt  it.  But  He  called  them  to  preach  the  gospel, 
which  is  a  unit.  They  were  not  called  to  preach  Pres- 
byterianism,  Catholicism,  or  Episcopalianism,  which 
are  wholly  antagonistic  —  though  the  two  latter  are 
suspiciously  close  of  kin,  from  their  looks — and  if  they 
pretend  that  they  were  called  for  that  purpose,  I  pre 
tend  that  they  were  not  called  of  God,  and  are  pseudo- 
Christians.  If  they  were  called  of  God,  the  Spirit  of 
God  put  it  into  their  hearts  to  seek  and  to  save  that 
which  was  lost  by  the  only  means  by  which  such  can 
be  sought  and  saved  ;  and  if  they  joined  their  sects,  it 
was  because  it  was  the  only  means  they  knew,  or  had  the 
courage  to  practice,  by  which  they  could  obey  the  call. 
In  so  far  as  they  preach  the  gospel,  they  cannot  differ. 
In  so  far  as  they  preach  anything  else,  they  go  beyond 
their  call,  and  it  is  of  no  material  difference  to  the  sal 
vation  of  their  hearers  whether  they  hear  and  believe 
them,  or  disbelieve  them,  and  refuse  to  hear. 

"Suppose,  my  dear,  that  every  ordained  priest  and 
preacher  were  to  die  to-night,  do  you  think  that  Christ's 
kingdom  on  earth  would  have  to  be  abandoned  by  Him? 
Could  he  not  raise  up  others  by  his  Spirit  and  provi 
dence  to  preach  the  gospel  of  salvation  ?  Ask  one  of 
your  three  reverend  friends  this  question ;  and  if  he 
answer  No  !  you  know  that  he  blasphemes  by  limiting 
the  Holy  One  of  Israel;  and  if  he  answer  Yes!  then 
ask  him  if  the  new  preachers  would  all  start  out  preach- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  231 

ing  Catholicism  or  Methodism,  or  any  of  the  other 
isms ;  and  if  they  would,  which  of  them  they  would 
choose ! 

"I  suppose  you  have  read,  my  dear,  how  some  wise 
men  once  determined  to  find  out  which  was  the  original 
language  of  the  earth,  and  shut  up  an  infant  where  he 
could  hear  no  sound  of  speech,  until  he  arrived  at  the 
full  age  of  speech,  and  how,  one  day,  when  his  attend 
ant  went  in  to  carry  him  his  food,  he  exclaimed  Bac! 
which  being  the  Phoenician  (or  some  other  language) 
for  bread,  the  wise  men  concluded  that  the  Phoenician, 
or  the  other,  was  the  original  language.  It  would 
hardly  be  worth  while  to  kill  all  the  preachers  in  order 
to  try  a  like  experiment  as  to  which  is  the  right  sect — 
since  they  are  all  wrong. 

"  When  this  great  error  of  a  temporal  organization 
to  correspond  with  the  spiritual  organization  of  the 
church,  together  with  all  the  evils  which  spring  from  it, 
is  put  down,  and  Christ  and  him  crucified  is  preached, 
and  his  spiritual  kingdom  is  alone  aspired  to,  there  will 
be  an  end  to  Jesuitism,  Abolitionism,  Arminianism, 
and  all  the  other  'isms'  which  exist,  and  are  powerful 
by  means  of  the  error. 

"  The  same  Spirit  which  now  calls  men  to  the  min 
istry  would  then  call  them,  and  make  the  call  effectual. 

"But  with  regard  to  the  administration  of  baptism  and 
the  Lord's  supper,  where  do  you  find  in  the  Bible  that 
one  has  to  be  ordained  Priest,  Bishop,  Elder,  or  Deacon 
to  administer  either?     According  to  the  very  genius  of 
Christianity,  as  I  have  already  shown,  and  as  is  as    < 
clearly  taught  as  any  other  thing  in  the  Bible,  every  / 
true  disciple  of  Christ  is  an  heir  of  God,  a  member  of 


232  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

the  spiritual  priesthood — which  is  the  only  kind  of 
priesthood  recognized  under  the  new  covenant  dis 
pensation — and  if  the  disciples  of  Christ,  laying  aside 
their  differences,  and  actuated  by  the  spirit  of  Christian 
charity,  should  organize  in  every  village  and  neighbor 
hood,  as  the  original  Christians  did,  for  mutual  encour 
agement  and  growth  in  grace,  and  should  select  those 
among  them  best  fitted  by  grace  to  preach  and  attend 
to  the  internal  concerns  and  charities  of  the  associa 
tion,  they  could  have  the  commands  of  our  Saviour 
about  baptism  and  the  Eucharist  performed  in  decency 
and  with  unquestionable  and  unquestioned  authority 
and  propriety. 

"As  for  your  Tract  Society,  and  all  that  sort  of  joint- 
stock  commercial  speculation,  it  has  not  half  so  much 
to  do  with  Christianity  as  it  has  with  keeping  down 
the  prices  of  books  and  printing,  and  not  nearly  so 
much  to  do  with  the  Church  of  Christ  as  it  has  with 
Printers'  Unions,  and  the  spread  over  the  earth  of 
Yankee  and  English  calicoes  and  flannels.  If  the  Chris 
tian  people  of  the  land  wish  to  print  Bibles,  let  them 
individually  contribute  to  do  so,  or  form  joint-stock 
commercial  companies  for  that  purpose.  And  if  they 
wish  to  send  missionaries  to  foreign  lands,  let  them 
send  those  who  will  preach  Christ  alone  and  him  cruci 
fied.  The  Presbyterians  and  Catholics,  and  others  in 
terpret  very  liberally  when  they  send  propagandists  of 
their  peculiar  doctrines  of  faith  and  church  government 
instead  of  propagandists  of  the  gospel." 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  233 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

T  was  not  many  days  after  this  "talk,"  that  Mary 
said  to  me :  "How  sorry  I  am,  husband,  that  you 
dislike  preachers  so  much  !" 

"Dislike  preachers!  Why,  my  darling,  what  put 
such  an  idea  into  your  head  ?" 

"I  thought,"  said  she,  "from  your  remarks  the  other 
day,  that  you  disliked  them." 

"Then  you  greatly  misunderstood  me,  my  dear," 
said  I;  "and  there  is  one  of  the  evils  incident  to  at 
tacking  a  class  or  system.  If  you  attack  a  class,  say 
of  priests  or  preachers,  for  flagrant  errors,  you  are 
pounced  upon  as  an  infidel — witness  Gibbon,  the  his 
torian — and  if  you  attack  a  system,  you  are  accused  of 
hating  some  one  or  all  of  its  disciples. 

"  Now,  my  dear,  while  no  one  fears  and  dislikes  any 
form  of  hierarchy  more  than  I  do,  there  is  no  one  who 
more  respects  a  gentleman,  or  an  earnest  man,  however 
he  may  be  mistaken,  particularly  if  he  be  earnest  in  a 
desire  to  do  good.  I  confess  that  I  do  not  like  your 
acquaintance  old  Pisgah  Barnes." 

"  Do  not  call  him  my  acquaintance,  husband,  I  did 
not  invite  him  here." 

"Nor  did  I,  my  dear.  I  found  him  here  when  I 
came  from  town,  very  much  at  home  on  the  gallery 
quarreling  with  Jack  about  the  manner  in  which  he 
had  curried  his  horse.  Upon  inquiry,  I  found  that  he 
had  arrived  and  taken  possession  about  noon,  ordered 
20* 


234  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

his  horse  to  be  fed  and  curried,  hurried  up  dinner,  and 
refused  to  have  you  disturbed,  as  he  said  you  were  not 
perhaps " 

"  Oh,  husband,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself; 
that  was  months  ago,  and " 

"  I  know  it  was,  my  dear,  and  I  understand  that  the 
man  is  as  great  an  old  gossip  about " 

"  Do  hush  about  that,  Mr.  Page,"  said  she,  blushing 
and  annoyed. 

"Certainly  I'll  hush,  Mrs.  Page,  though  I  see  no 
thing  for  you  to  be  ashamed  of.  But  the  man  is  no  gen 
tleman  who  concerns  himself  about  the  affairs  of  other 
people,  or  who  takes  advantage  of  his  position  to 
thrust  himself  upon  them,  or  to  lecture  them  as  he  did 
me  for  saying  that  I  thought  the  English  laws  of  Mort 
main  ought  to  be  the  law  in  every  country,  and,  be 
sides,  that  no  one  should  be  allowed  to  leave  money  or 
property  by  will,  either  absolutely  or  in  trust,  to  any 
religious  body.  To  have  heard  him,  one  would  have 
thought  1  was  worse  than  an  intidel.  Then  the  man 
ner  in  which  he  persecuted  me  to  subscribe  to  the 
Pisgah  Seminary  was  ungentlemanly.  He  had  evi 
dently  taken  stock  of  my  means,  and  he  prescribed  how 
much  I  ought  to  give,  and  when  I  told  him  I  could  not 
give  so  much,  he  pooh-poohed  me,  and  sneered  at  me 
in  a  most  savage  way,  and  actually  treated  me  as 
though  I  intended  to  swindle  him.  Really,  my  dear, 
it  is  rather  too  much  to  ask  me  to  like  or  respect  a  man 
who  ought  to  be  kicked  into  good  manners  !  But,  to 
show  you  how  very  liberal  I  am  in  my  sentiments,  I 
will  acknowledge  that  I  respect  the  man's  energy  and 
earnestness,  and  have  very  little  doubt  of  his  honesty 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,   ESQ.  235 

and  of  his  ability  to  do  much  good  in  the  way  he  pro 
poses,  though  he  be  such  a  fool,  and  so  unchristian  in 
the  ordinary  courtesies  of  humanity." 

"But,  husband,  Mr.  Barnes — old  Pisgah,  as  you  call 
him,  is  only  one  man " 

"  True  for  you,  my  dear.  He  is  fortunately  only  one 
man,  though  he  has  already  had  four  wives.  A  few 
more  such  would  ruin  any  sect  in  the  country.  He 
differs  materially  from  your  other  acquaintance,  the 
Reverend  Jimpson,  who  seems  earnest  about  nothing 
except  eating  and  drinking ;  and  Parson  Elvin,  who 
is  a  perfect  Boanerges  on  the  stump,  and  the  very  Rev 
erend  Mr.  Sikes " 

"You  select  those  men  who  are  very  much  disliked," 
said  she. 

"Certainly,  Mary,  and  I  select  them  for  a  purpose, 
to  show  you  that  even  if  there  be  any  virtue  in  the 
laying  on  of  'prelatical  fingers,'  it  is  very  often  most 
mistakingly  applied.  Merely  to  be  a  preacher  is  no 
passport  to  heaven,  nor  should  it  be  to  privileges  in 
society  not  allowed  to  other  men,  however  pious  and 
earnest  may  be  the  preacher.  In  so  far  as  a  man  is  a 
Christian  he  is  a  gentleman,  for  he  has  the  humility 
and  respect  for  others,  and  the  charity  toward  others 
which  Christianity  inculcates,  and  true  gentlemen 
practice. 

"Now  I  do  not  know  any  better  Christian  or  gen 
tleman  than  the  Rev.  Dr.  Hatton.  He  is  no  busybody 
in  other  men's  matters.  He  shows  deference  with  self- 
respect,  charity  without  ostentation,  piety  with  cheer 
fulness.  If  he  can  speak  well  of  a  man  he  does  so 
without  the  air  of  patronizing ;  and  if  he  be  forced  to 


236  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

speak  ill  of  him,  he  does  so  as  gently  but  firmly  as  pos 
sible,  and,  while  he  is  just,  almost  exhausts  charity  to 
excuse  him.  He  is(bne  of  those  who  are  in  season  and 
out  of  season  (if  there  be  any  such  thing)  in  doing 
good,  and  may  be  found,  modest  but  energetic,  where- 
ever  good  is  to  be  done  to  the  sick  and  suffering  in  soul 
or  body.  In  the  pulpit  he  is  grave  and  earnest,  and 
brings  forth  things,  both  new  and  old,  out  of  the  treas 
ury  of  his  learning,  to  assist  him  in  expounding  the 
gospel.  And,  if  you  will  notice,  my  dear,  he  always 
preaches  the  gospel.  Whatever  the  text,  the  gospel  is 
made  to  expound  it,  or  it  is  made  to  expound  the 
gospel.  And  with  all  his  goodness,  such  is  his  quiet 
dignity  that  I  have  yet  to  see  the  man  who  would 
willingly  insult  him. 

"  He  is  my  model  preacher,  my  dear,  and  I  will  even 
acknowledge  that  there  are  some  like  him  in  all  de 
nominations  of  Christians  (am  I  not  charitable?);  but 
how  docs  that  mend  the  matter  so  far  as  my  argument 
of  the  other  day  is  concerned  ? 

"  You  never  heard  Dr.  Hatton,  nor  shall  you  hear 
any  of  those  like  him,  preach  anything  but  the  gospel. 
And  here,  my  dear,  I  wish  you  to  note  one  thing: 
the  more  earnest,  learned,  and  experienced  the  preacher 
the  more  he  confines  himself  to  the  gospel,  pure  and 
simple.  It  is  your  fledgling  youngsters,  your  boobies, 
or  3'-our  hypocrites  who  dwell  upon  controversial  points 
as  a  practice. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Page,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me 
what  good  it  does  Dr.  Hatton  and  the  others  like  him 
to  be  Presbyterians  or  Methodists,  Catholics  or  Protest 
ants — except  that  they  have  thereby  been  ordained  to 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  237 

preach,  and  have  been  put  in  a  position  to  receive  a 
call  or  an  appointment,  and  make  a  living  ?  Is  it  not 
rather  a  hinderance  to  them  ?  The  peculiar  tenets  of 
their  different  churches  might  as  well  not  exist  for  all 
the  illustration  they  get  from  them  in  the  pulpit.  They 
are  held  merely  as  matters  of  personal  opinion  which 
have  nothing  to  do  with  that  preaching  which  saves 
souls — the  preaching  of  Christ  and  him  crucified,  which 
is  above  all  earthly  wisdom,  and  surpasses  in  import 
ance  and  interest  all  metaphysical  learning  and  dis 
tinctions. 

"And  do  you  suppose  that  if  tfcere  were  no  Meth 
odist,  Presbyterian,  or  Catholic  Churches,  or  if  Dr.  Hat- 
ton  and  his  peers  were  excommunicated  from  them  for 
heresy,  they  would  not  still  preach  the  gospel?  And 
is  it  not  certain  to  your  mind  that  if  the  barriers  of  the 
sects  (their  foisting  of  rites,  ceremonies,  dogmas  of  faith, 
and  peculiarities  of  church  government,  as  though  they 
were  matters  of  importance)  were  thrown  down,  and 
the  fold  was  turned  into  one,  just  as  there  is  -one  Spirit, 
and  one  calling,  "one  Lord,  one  faith,  one  baptism,  one 
God  and  Father  of  all  who  is  above  all  and  through 
all  and  in  all," — I  say,  is  it  not  certain  that  if  this  were 
the  case,  and  all  men  were  told  :  You  need  not  believe 
in  the  Pope,  the  Mass,  or  go  to  the  Confessional ;  you 
need  not  subscribe  to  the  doctrines  of  Election  and 
Predestination  ;  you  need  not  believe  in  the  Apostolic 
Succession,  or  in  surplices,  or  wax  tapers,  or  genuflex 
ions  ;  you  may  believe  or  not  that  you  can  fall  from 
grace,  or  that  infants  should  or  should  not  be  baptized ; 
you  may  believe  just  what  a  conscientious  study  of  the 
Bible  leads  you  with  your  differing  temperaments,  edu- 


238  LIFK  AN&   OPINIONS  OF 

cations,  and  capacities  to  believe  ;  all  that  is  required 
of  you  is  to  believe  truly  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  as 
the  only  Saviour  of  sinners,  and  ye  shall  be  taken  into 
the  Church  militant,  with  a  fair  prospect  of  being  here 
after  received  into  the  Church  triumphant, — is  it  not 
absolutely  certain,  I  say,  that  in  this  case  thousands 
would  volunteer  as  the  subjects  of  Christ,  and  would 
obey  the  commands  of  Christ  and  be  baptized,  and  par 
take  of  the  communion  of  his  body  and  blood  with  all 
the  spiritual  benefits  which  flow  from  an  intelligent 
compliance  with  these  commands,  who  now  stand 
without,  unable  conscientiously  to  enter  the  visible  fold, 
and  consequently  unable  to  obey  these  commands  ? 

"This  is  a  long  question,  my  dear,  but  is  it  not  a 
very  pertinent  one  ? 

"You,  in  common  with  most  Christians,  have  a 
strong  belief  in  a  Millennium  to  come;  and  all  Chris 
tians  have  a  strong  desire  to  see  the  universal  spread 
of  Christianity.  How  can  there  be  a  Millennium  (I  use 
the  ordinary  expression),  so  long  as  the  kingdom  of 
Christ  upon  earth  is  so  split  up  intiO  little  provinces  at 
desperate  war  with  each  other?  Do  you  not  know 
that  a  Protestant  Christian  regards  a  Catholic  Chris 
tian  with  suspicion,  to  be  regarded  in  turn  by  the 
Catholic  with  pity  and  contempt?  Do  not  Parson 
Surplice  and  Father  Geoghagau  think  in  their  hearts 
that  Mr.  Snow's  baptism  of  our  son  the  other  day  was 
unauthorized  and  void  ?  whereas  every  man,  who  exer 
cises  his  own  common  sense  and  takes  the  Christian 
religion  in  its  essence  as  his  only  criterion,  knows  that 
baptism  is  a  mere  form,  which  may  be  authoritatively 
and  effectually  administered  just  as  well  by  my  father 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  239 

or  any  other  true  believer  as  by  Pope,  Prelate,  or  Pres- 
byier  ?  Does  not  Father  Geoghagan  believe — or,  at 
any  rate,  does  not  his  church  teach — that  our  marriage, 
though  legal  according  to  the  laws  of  the  land  as  a  civil 
contract,  still  lacks  that  binding  spirituality  the  church 
can  alone  confer  ?  and  that  therefore — for  it  is  the  neces 
sary  consequence — our  son  is  a  sort  of  bastard  ?" 

"Oh,  husband,  they  can't  think  that!  You  are  al 
ways  following  consequences,  as  you  call  them,  to  some 
ridiculous  conclusion,  which  puts  you  in  a  high  glee." 

"Ah,  my  dear,  the  reductio  ad  absurdam  is  the  fate 
of  every  religious  tenet  of  human  invention.  Men  who 
build  of  wood,  hay,  and  stubble,  though  it  be  upon  the 
sure  foundation,  must  expect  their  work  destroyed,  and 
laughed  at  in  its  destruction. 

"  The  safest  criterion  that  I  know  by  which  a  Chris 
tian  can  determine  whether  an  article  of  faith  or  prac 
tice  be  correct,  is  to  ask  himself:  does  it  in  any  degree 
militate  against  my  personal  responsibility  to  God  ?  or 
docs  it  in  any  degree  militate  against  the  perfect  suffi 
ciency  of  the  atonement  of  Christ  for  my  salvation? 
and  if  it  do  either, — if  it  imply  that  some  other  can  do 
for  you  (that  is,  be  holy,  or  faithful,  or  prayerful,  or 
energetic  for  you)  what  you  must  do  for  yourself — or 
that  some  other  thought,  word,  or  deed  is  to  be  added  to 
the  atonement  of  Christ  for  your  salvation, — you  may 
set  it  down  as  a  hurtful  error.  And  though  it  militate 
against  neither,  if  it  be  a  matter  indifferent  to  either, 
and  be  not  an  express  command  of  the  Master,  it  is  a 
nonsensical  error. 

"This  is  the  true  meaning  of  the  saying,  that  'a 
man  should  believe  only  what  his  reason  approves.' 


240  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

"If  a  man  should  tell  me  that  I  must  repent  as  well  as 
believe,  I  try  the  doctrine,  and  find  that  it  is  correct; 
because  my  reason  tells  me  that,  though  it  appears  that 
some  additional  act  is  demanded  upon  my  part,  the 
repentance  is  not  an  act  which  saves  me  but  an  act 
which  enters  necessarily  into  the  acceptance  of  an 
offered  salvation  in  which  1  believe.  It  is  only  an 
other  form  of  saying,  by  faith  you  shall  be  saved — 
for  faith  involves  the  repentance  as  well  as  the  belief. 

"And  so,  my  dear,  of  everything  else  in  religion. 
The  first  principles  must  be  always  borne  in  mind.  If 
you  lose  sight  of  your  premises,  your  conclusions  must 
be  either  ridiculous  or  monstrous. " 

"There  is  one  thing  1  wish  to  ask  you,  husband; 
you  do  not  object  to  my  being  a  member  of  the  church, 
do  you  ?" 

"Certainly  I  do  not,  my  darling.  On  the  contrary, 
I  am  glad  of  it  for  several  reasons,  t.  I  do  not  see  how 
a  woman,  with  her  peculiar  affections  and  trials,  can 
get  along  without  religion  to  support  her;  and  I  do 
not  know  how,  as  matters  stand,  she  can  gratify  her 
religious  longings  and  necessities  without  being  a 
member  of  some  sect — for  the  sects  have  a  monopoly 
of  religious  exercises." 

"Well,  but,  husband,  Mr.  Snow  would  allow  you  to 
commune,  if  your  conscience  impelled  you  to  do  so; 
and  you  could  also  join  his  church  without  any  profes 
sion,  save  of  your  faith  in  Jesus  Christ." 

"Indeed  ?     Then  Mr.  Snow  must  have  been  copying 
after  Dr.  Hatton,  or  some  of  the  old  and  really  spirit-  ' 
ual  fathers  of  his  sect;   for,  unless  I  be  very  much 
mistaken,  the  invitation  to  commune  given  from  the 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  241 

most  liberal  pulpits  includes  only  those  who  belong  to 
that  sect,  or  who  are  of  good  and  regular  standing  in 
some  sister  sect.  And,  besides,  suppose  that  he  would 
not  require  rne  to  subscribe  specifically  to  the  peculiar 
tenets  of  his  sect  in  all  matters  of  doctrine,  would  I 
not,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  subscribe  to  them  if  I 
joined  the  sect  ?" 

"Why,  no,  you  would  not.  You  could  believe 
what  you  chose  about  them." 

"If  I  did,  my  dear,  I  should  have  to  do  so  as  a  hypo 
crite  or  a  coward ;  for,  if  I  attacked  any  one  of  them, 
I  should  be  under  authority,  and  should  be  pretty  apt 
presently  to  find  myself  disciplined,  as  they  call  it,  and 
expelled  from  my  membership,  as  an  outcast  from  the 
fold  as  well  as  from  the  sect. 

"  Now,  Mary,  there  is  one  final  suggestion  I  wish 
to  make.  Hereafter,  when  you  read  your  Bible,  the 
epistles  especially,  read  in  the  light  of  what  I  have 
been  saying  about  sects,  personal  accountability,  and 
faith  ;  and  about  the  on\y  peculiar  doctrine  upon  which 
Christianity  is  founded,  the  atonement  of  Jesus  Christ; 
and  you  will  not  only  agree  with  most  that  I  have 
said,  but  will  find  a  unity  and  comprehensibility  you 
did  not  find  before." 


21 


242  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

WE  spent  our  lives  in  home-work,  home-pleasures, 
and  homesome  talk.  Although  Mary,  with  her 
beauty,  intelligence,  and  amiability  was  one  a  husband 
would  be  naturally  proud  to  present  in  the  world,  we, 
neither  of  us,  cared  for  the  company  of  strangers,  or  to  go 
any  more  in  public  than  the  very  necessities  of  sociability 
demanded.  We  belonged  to  a  coterie  of  estimable 
friends  with  whom  there  was  a  constant  interchange  of 
sociabilities  and  friendly  offices,  but  although  fashion 
able  society  was  so  much  more  modest  and  quiet  in  its 
exigencies  then  than  now,  we,  neither  of  us,  fancied  it. 
Mary,  of  course,  always  dressed  as  near  the  reigning 
fashion  as  good  taste  would  allow.  Her  taste  was  ex 
quisite,  and,  like  all  true  women,  she  had  an  instinctive 
horror  of  the  odd  and  outree.  I  have  always  thought 
that  it  was  a  woman's  duty  to  follow  the  fashions  as 
far  as  she  can  with  decency  and  honesty.  There  are 
some  fashions  which  are  not  decent,  and  some  which  a 
woman  cannot  follow  with  an  honest  regard  for  her 
means;  bufr,  otherwise,  she  should  be  fashionable,  even 
if  it  led  to  muffling  her  face,  or  wearing  nose-rings. 
You  will  rarely  find  a  fashion  which,  either  strictly  fol 
lowed,  or  slightly  modified,  does  not  add  to  a  woman's 
beauty  or  gracefulness,  and  it  is  just  as  much  her  na 
ture  and  her  duty  to  make  herself  pleasing  to  the  eye 
of  man,  for  whom  she  was  created,  and,  particularly, 
that  of  her  husband,  if  she  belong  to  one,  as  it  is  to  re- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  243 

frain  from  making  herself  positively  disagreeable  in  ap 
pearance.  In  the  name  of  nature,  then,  let  her  beautify 
herself,  so  she  restrict  herself  to  the  rules  of  decency 
and  honesty ;  I  do  not  say  the  rules  of  modesty,  for 
fashion  seems  to  set  the  rules  for  that  among  the  fash 
ionables. 

For  my  own  part,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  what 
other  men's  sisters  and  wives  chose  to  add  or  leave  off 
in  the  way  of  dress  or  ornament,  never  concerned  me 
disagreeably;  and  I  never  saw  a  healthy  young  woman 
who  had  not  some  beauty,  either  natural  or  artificial. 
But  still  I  think  that  decency  is  the  best  guide.  v.The 
"beauty  unadorned"  doctrine  is  an  aesthetic  heresy. 

I  concerned  myself  very  little,  however,  with  society, 
or  fashion.  My  books  and  practice,  my  farm  and  farm 
yard,  and  my  wife  and  little  boy,  gave  me  plenty  of 
occupation  and  amusement. 

The  little  fellow  seemed,  from  his  first  beginning  to 
notice,  to  regard  me  with  peculiar  complacency  and  a 
rare  degree  of  faith — as  though  I  were  some  pet  giant 
who  had  to  be  ruled  gently,  and  without  any  mani 
festation  of  fear.  Even  before  he  could  talk,  he  and  I 
were  great  cronies,  arid  fully  sympathized  with  each 
other  in  all  our  pleasures  and  troubles. 

I  may  be  called  childish  aud  silly,  but  the  three  ob 
jects  which  from  my  earliest  years  I  have  found  most 
comical,  have  been:  a  hen,  in  anxious  indecision  stretch 
ing  out  her  neck  and  stepping  backward  and  forward 
and  sideways,  and  then  at  last  flying  shrieking  up  to 
her  roost ;  a  duck,  in  a  like  state  of  indecision  about 
jumping  down  from  a  step,  or  other  elevation  ;  and  a 
little  child,  trying  in  vain  to  insert  the  point  of  a  stick 


244  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

in  a  somewhat  smaller  hole  in  a  piece  of  bark  or  paste 
board. 

It  is  really  not  worth  the  while  to  try  and  analyze 
the  whys  and  wherefores  of  this,  but  no  scene  on  the 
stage  has  the  power  so  to  tickle  niy  soul  as  cither  of 
these  sights;  and  the  busy,  patient  earnestness  with 
which  my  little  son,  seated  on  the  floor,  would  pursue 
this  occupation  in  vain,  often  served  to  amuse  me  and 
to  keep  him  quiet  for  an  hour  or  two  at  a  time.  It  was 
only  necessary  to  show  him  how  I  could  perform  the 
operation  with  a  smaller  stick,  and  then  to  give  him  a 
larger,  and  at  it  he  would  go.  Then  I  could  discourse 
to  his  mother  about  him. 

"My  dear,"  I  would  say,  "that  boy  of  ours  is  bound 
to  be  a  great  man.  He  has  the  sound  mind  in  the 
sound  body.  Look  at  his  patience !  see  the  energy  of 
that  movement  to  force  the  stick  through  the  bark 
whether  or  no!  I  think  he  will  become  a  great  engi 
neer.  He  already  shows  genius  for  the  business.  Why, 
my  dear,  in  a  few  years  he  will  be  positively  dangerous. 
As  sure  as  can  be  we  shall  wake  up  some  morning  to 
find  our  house  moved  over  to  yonder  hill,  or  elsewhere, 
as  the  notion  takes  him.  I  don't  know,  either.  That 
examination  he  is  giving  looks  very  like  a  doctor's. 
What  do  you  say  to  his  studying  medicine?  It  runs 
in  my  famity,  you  know.  There,  he  has  turned  his 
stick  end  for  end.  I'm  afraid  my  dear  he  will  be  a 
lawyer  after  all." 

This,  I  think  was  the  happiest  era  of  my  life.    I  pre 
sume  that  every  man  who  has  passed  the  age  for  active  • 
pleasures,  can  look  back  at  sonic  particular  period  and 
say:  then,  I  was  happy.     Happiness  is  like  a  swift 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,   ESQ.  245 

rolling  river;  most  beautiful  when  it  is  before  you,  and 
after  you  have  passed  it.  At  least,  the  sense  of  inse 
curity  in  its  passage  has  always  made  it  seein  so  to  me. 
Here  was  I,  a  young  and  healthy  man,  with  no  vice  to 
trouble  me,  prospering  in  the  good  opinion  and  wealth 
of  the  world,  with  a  lovely  and  loving  wife,  and  a 
healthy  and  perfect  boy.  What  can  any  man  hope  for 
on  earth  nearer  perfect  happiness  than  this? 

And  yet,  in  the  short  summer  evenings,  when  my 
fat  and  rosy  little  boy,  tired  with  the  heat  and  activity 
of  the  long  day,  was  laid  in  his  little  crib  beside  our 
bed,  and  his  mother  busied  herself  about  the  closing 
duties  of  housekeeping,  I  would  go  and  sit  upon  the 
front  steps  alone,  and  the  old  vague  melancholy  of  my 
childhood  would  come  upon  me,  and  settle  and  darken 
like  the  coming  night.  As  the  last  tint  of  day  would 
fade  in  the  west,  the  whippoorwills  commenced  their 
cries  from  valley  and  hillside ;  the  bleating  of  the  calves 
and  the  lowing  of  their  mothers  would  cease ;  the  chick 
ens  and  turkeys  would  quiet  themselves  upon  their 
roosts,  some  little  chick  now  and  then  by  a  faint  peep 
betraying  its  annoyance  at  being  disturbed  by  some 
restless  neighbor ;  the  geese,  squatted  in  company  upon 
the  grass  lawn,  would  betray  their  presence  and  life  by 
occasional  low-toned  questions  and  answers,  or  by  the 
moving  of  some  restless  one  to  another  spot;  and  as 
the  darkness  became  deeper,  the  watch-dogs'  bark  would 
ring  faint  from  distant  farms  ;  and  with  the  shimmering 
light  of  the  stars  faintly  shadowing  the  earth,  and  trees, 
and  hills,  the  jarring  crickets  and  katydids  from  the  sur 
rounding  hedges  and  bushes  would  fill  the  ear  with 
sound,  which  by  its  monotony  would  soon  become  uu- 
21* 


246  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

noticed,  and  the  mellow  light  of  the  glow-worm  would 
here  and  there  illumine  the  dewy  grass ;  and  then  I 
would  sit  all  alone  and  abstracted,  brooding  over  rny- 
self.  I  would  seem  to  myself  to  be  in  a  great  void  in 
company  with  my  thoughts,  and  fears,  and  cares,  and 
hopes,  and  happiness,  which  would  all  present  them 
selves  for  analysis  and  comment;  and  the  void  was 
dark,  and  I  was  helpless. 

I  would  fain  linger  all  my  life  in  the  memory  of  these 
days  of  my  life.  Even  the  melancholy  Avhich  would 
sometimes  overwhelm  me  has  now  a  pleasant  airiness 
about  it  like  the  faint  discords  which  occasionally 
heighten  and  make  strange  the  sweetness  of  a  strain  of 
music.  I  would  all  the  rather  linger  here,  that  these 
days  passed  so  quickly,  and  were  followed  by  a  woe  to 
which  all  other  misery  must  be  as  a  sorry  tale  soon 
told. 

As  I  have  been  writing  a  true  history  of  the  past, 
and  not  a  fiction,  I  have  naturally  rejected  the  arts  by 
which  interest  is  held  in  suspense,  and  sorrow  is  sur 
prised  and  taken  captive.  The  fearful  thought  has  been 
constant  with  me,  since  I  first  began  to  write,  that  I 
should  have  to  renew  my  great  grief  by  telling  it,  and 
I  have  cast  about  for  some  way  to  avoid  it ;  but  man 
can  never  shun  his  calamities,  nor  avoid  the  memory 
of  them.  At  any  rate,  it  cannot  injure  me,  an  old  man, 
to  recall  once  more  a  sorrow  which  must  soon  be  laid 
with  me  in  the  grave,  but  never,  like  me,  to  rise  again. 
But  though  I  recall  it,  what  language  shall  I  use  to  de 
scribe  it  ?  Language  cannot  describe  the  supreme  ag 
ony  of  grief,  for  the  human  mind  cannot  contain  and 
realize  it.  Upon  the  Mount  of  Olives  our  Saviour 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  247 

found  his  disciples  "sleeping  for  sorrow."  Man  dies 
of  grief,  goes  crazed  of  grief,  and  sleeps  of  grief,  be 
cause  his  mind  and  body  cannot  bear  its  full  load ; 
how,  then,  can  he  describe  it  in  adequate  terms  ?  If 
perchance  he  survive  it,  and  "go  softly  all  his  years 
in  the  bitterness  of  his  soul,"  he  does  not  willingly  re 
new  its  agony,  nor  attempt  to  expose  to  others  its 
particulars.  It  seems  like  sacrilege. 

I  had  rather  think  of  my  Mary  in  heaven,  or  bloom 
ing  with  health  and  radiant  with  goodness  here  on 
earth,  than  think  of  her  sweet  face  as  it  lay  pallid  and 
cold  in  death  before  me.  1  had  rather  try  to  imagine 
her  voice  joining  in  the  glorious  songs  above,  or  in  my 
fancy  hear  its  loving  accents  again,  and  its  sweet  tones 
singing  her  favorite  hymns  in  the  evening  dusk  or  hum 
ming  a  lullaby  to  her  baby,  than  try  to  recall  the  feeble 
whispers  of  her  sickness,  the  wandering  wildness  of 
her  delirium,  and  the  last  sighs  in  which  her  life  ex 
pired.  Her  words,  her  delirium,  her  last  sighs,  her 
pallid  face,  and  her  grave,  are  ever  before  me.  I  can 
still  hear  the  first  clods  of  earth  jarring  my  very  soul 
as  they  fall  upon  her  coffin.  I  can  still  see  my  house 
all  desolate  as  when  I  returned  from  the  grave,  with 
the  funeral  confusion  not  yet  removed,  the  half-empty 
medicine  bottles,  the  spoons,  the  cups,  the  basins  still 
upon  the  shelves  and  tables.  I  can  still  see  in  yonder 
bed  the  last  impress  of  her  form  after  she  was  removed 
from  it  to  be  shrouded  and  laid  in  her  coffin.  I  cannot 
escape  these  sights  and  sounds.  As  I  carry  my  food 
to  my  lips,  one  or  the  other  will  strike  my  heart  with  a 
pang  so  sharp  I  wish  to  cry  out.  As  I  go  along  the 
street,  or  am  conversiug  upon  business,  or  am  in  the 


248  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

midst  of  social  pleasures,  they  come  upon  me  like  an 
avalanche,  and  I  would  lain  rise  and  rush  away.  And 
in  the  deepest  sleep  of  the  night  they  rouse  me  sud 
denly  with  alarm,  and  I  fall  back  upon  my  pillow  with 
groans  and  stifled  shrieks,  almost  fainting. 

No,  my  Darling,  I  cannot  describe  the  sorrow  I  have 
felt,  nor  shall  my  memory  ever  again  seek  to  recall  the 
precious  wreck  of  your  fair  body.  Sleep  on,  my  Love. 
If  there  be  sweetness  in  the  grave,  I  shall  find  it  at 
your  side,  and  if  there  be  happiness  in  heaven,  it  shall 
be  doubly  blessed  when  shared  with  you. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE  light  of  my  life  was  gone,  and  thenceforward 
I  have  walked  in  shadow.  Like  one  who  passes 
through  a  long  covered  bridge,  the  brightness  of  the 
past  with  the  beautiful  objects  it  shone  upon  still  exist 
only  in  my  memory,  and  away  before  me  a  faint  spot 
of  light  has  been  growing  larger  and  brighter,  until  I 
know  I  shall  soon  enter  into  the  perfect  day.  Or, 
rather,  like  one  whose  sight  has  been  weakened  by  dis 
ease,  although  the  scorching  sun  has  beamed  upon  me, 
the  present  has  seemed  confused  and  blurred  with  ever- 
fitful  spots  of  light  and  gloom,  while  the  past  and  future 
have  alone  shone  with  steady,  natural  light. 

I  do  not  know  that  I  became  insane,  or  that  I  am 
not  so  now.  Nature  has  still  to  me  its  just  proportions 
and  true  colors.  I  have  forgotten  nothing.  I  can  still 
read  and  understand  and  enjoy  the  ideas  of  others.  My 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  249 

powers  of  analysis  and  synthesis  seem  to  be  unim 
paired,  and  I  can  investigate  the  relations  of  truth  and 
of  all  narrated  facts  and  ideas  as  clearly  and  conclu 
sively  as  I  ever  did.  My  affections  have  been  as  warm 
as  ever,  and  my  conduct  has  been  such  as  at  least  con 
veyed  no  idea  of  insanity  to  those  who  knew  it  best. 
And  yet  that  I  am  not  insane  now,  or  that  I  was  not 
insane  before  my  great  sorrow,  is  more  than  I  can  say ; 
for  certainly  a  great  change  took  place,  though  why  it 
took  place,  and  in  what  it  consisted,  would  be  hard  to 
determine. 

Insanity  is,  after  all,  only  a  relative  term.  If  a  man 
persistently  cultivate,  for  the  amusement  of  himself  and 
others,  blasphemy  of  speech  and  imagination,  he  is  not 
called  insane ;  yet  if  he  be  flighty  about  business  mat 
ters,  a  guardian  may  be  appointed  for  him,  or  he  may 
find  himself  in  a  mad-house.  Now,  the  fact  is  that  the 
wicked  man  is  the  more  insane  of  the  two.  One  man 
is  always  in  a  fever  of  ambition  in  his  trade,  his  profes 
sion,  his  pursuit  of  some  object  which  inspires  fame ; 
another  is  utterly  careless  and  stupid  in  his  interest  in 
his  trade  or  pursuit.  Which  is  the  more  insane  ?  Do 
not  both  manifest  unsoundness  of  mind — real  derange 
ment  of  what  reason  shows  to  be  a  healthy  condition 
of  mind? 

It  is  not  a  mere  extravagant  proposition,  made  to 
excite  surprise  or  admiration,  to  say  that  every  man  is 
insane  to  some  degree.  The  man  whose  judgment  was 
always  just,  whose  passions  and  affections  were  always 
equable,  whose  appetites  were  never  rebellious,  whose 
will  was  always  to  do  what  was  best  for  others  as  well 
as  for  himself,  and  who  had  no  hobby  of  faith  or  prac- 


250  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

tice — if  he  had  any  judgment,  passions,  appetites,  and 
will — would  be  the  greatest  wonder  that  has  yet  ap 
peared  as  a  mere  man. 

But  though  the  proposition  be  not  false,  it  belongs 
to  a  species  of  metaphysical  or  psychological  hair 
splitting  which  is  much  resorted  to  in  modern  days, 
which  cannot  possibly  do  any  good,  and  which  rather 
shows  that  the  man  who  indulges  it  may  have  good 
personal  reasons  for  his  belief. 

Since  I  arrived  at  a  knowledge  of  the  true  value  of 
facts,  great  rugged  facts,  in  morals,  I  have  had  little 
patience  with  the  arts  which  pry  into  them  with  micro 
scopic  designs,  or  seek  to  polish  laboriously  some  rough 
corner  of  them.  Eternity,  and  not  Time,  is  the  place 
to  cultivate  those  arts.  Truth  has  no  need  of  ingenuity 
for  its  support,  and  casuistry  on  earth  is  the  devil's 
work ;  as  in  heaven,  it  may  be  the  work  of  saints 
throughout  eternity. 

The  change  which  took  place  in  me  was,  I  am  in 
clined  to  think,  rather  a  modification  than  a  derange 
ment  of  the  constitution  of  my  mind.  What  was  before 
most  desirable,  lost  its  allurements ;  and  some  things 
which  were  formerly  very  disagreeable,  became  best 
suited  to  my  state  of  mind. 

The  fact  is,  that,  although  I  have  set  myself  the  task 
of  displaying  my  life  as  it  actually  existed  and  acted, 
there  is  a  period  of  six  years  from  the  beginning  of  the 
last  illness  of  my  wife,  so  filled  with  numbing  sorrows, 
that  I  must,  for  my  own  sake  at  least,  pass  over  it  as 
speedily  as  possible. 

My  dear  old  father  died,  Mr.  Mclntyre  died,  my  noble 
little  boy,  who,  from  the  death  of  his  mother,  was  iu- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  251 

separable  from  me,  took  scarlet  fever — that  most  dread 
ful  of  diseases — and  died;  and  my  elder  sister,  who 
watched  over  and  nursed  him,  and  my  younger  brother, 
Joseph,  caught  it  and  died. 

And  I  took  my  journey  through  all  that  outskirt  of 
the  realms  of  woe,  clad  in  its  sombre  livery,  like  one 
whose  home  was  there.  Even  the  last  accents  of  my 
son,  who  in  his  delirium  said  :  Papa  come !  and  sighed 
and  died,  could  bring  but  a  woeful,  wistful  smile  upon 
my  lips. 

Let  me  illustrate  what  I  say  by  an  incident  which 
took  place  in  Yatton  some  years  afterward. 

A  terrible  epidemic  fever  was  raging,  and  numbers, 
of  all  ages  and  classes,  were  dying  every  day.  The 
physician  of  the  town,  who  had  by  far  the  largest 
practice,  and  was  deservedly  one  of  the  most  esteemed 
citizens  of  the  county,  was  kept  going  night  and  day. 
He  was  a  man  of  prodigious  powers  of  physical  and 
mental  endurance,  yet  even  he  was  so  worn  down  he 
would  fall  asleep  on  his  horse  or  in  his  buggy  while 
going  only  a  few  hundred  yards,  or  even  while  feeling 
the  pulses  of  his  patients.  His  own  wife  and  his  two 
children  presently  also  took  the  disease,  and  then  he 
had  no  rest.  I  have  actually  seen  him  have  to  rub  red 
pepper  in  his  eyes  to  stimulate  the  lids  to  open  when 
it  was  necessary  to  measure  out  medicine,  for  other 
wise  he  would  feel  his  way  about  the  room  for  what 
he  wished.  At  last  his  youngest  child  died,  and  I,  as 
sisted  by  three  or  four  others,  buried  it.  He  was  present 
at  the  grave,  but,  though  I  knew  he  was  devotedly  at 
tached  to  the  child,  he  showed  no  feeling/  When  the 
grave  was  filled,  I  went  up  to  him,  and  took  his  hand, 


252  LIFE  AND   OI'INIONS   OF 

and  said:  "Doctor,  I  sympathize  very  thoroughly  with 
you." 

"I  know  you  do,  Page,"  said  he,  "but  I  can't  feel. 
I  lost  all  feeling  some  days  ago." 

And  he  went  about  his  toil  again  as  though  sickness 
and  death  were  the  sole  task  of  life,  and  too  much  of 
course,  to  call  for  sorrow  or  comment.  When  the  epi 
demic  and  its  excitement  were  withdrawn,  which  was 
the  case,  in  a  great  degree,  a  very  fow  days  after,  he 
was  prostrated — that  is  the  word — for  several  months. 
The  wonder  to  me  was  that  he  ever  rose  again. 

His  expression,  "I  can't  feel,"  has  often  recurred  to 
me.  (''Numbness  of  feeling  is  nature's  refuge  from  the 
sirocco  of  grief,  and  the  pangs  of  death.  Blessed  be 
God  for  his  goodness  to  his  poor  creatures  even  in  the 
extremity  of  his  wrath. 

I  will  then  leave  these  six  years  of  my  life  to  their 
gloom,  merely  adding  two  facts  which  may  be  neces 
sary  to  the  full  understanding  of  what  I  have  subse 
quently  done,  or  may  yet  do. 

The  tirst  is  the  only  pleasant  thing  I  can  recall  in  all 
that  time.  My  sister  Bel,  who  was  engaged  to  Joseph 
Preston  at  the  time  of  our  father's  death,  married  him, 
quietly,  some  six  or  eight  months  afterward,  and  in 
about  a  year  presented  her  husband  with  a  fine  girl, 
who,  I  may  here  say,  lived,  and  became  the  mother  of 
my  present  and  only  grandniece,  Miss  Perkins. 

The  other  fact  concerns  my  property  and  affairs. 
So  long  as  my  son  lived  he  was  his  mother's  heir,  and 
I  preserved  and  tried  to  improve  her  property  for  his 
sake;  but  when  he  died,  just  after  his  Grandfather  Mc- 
Iiityre's  death, — although  the  properly  was  mine, — it 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  253 

was  irksome  to  me  to  keep  that  which  others  might 
think  was  but  a  slice  out  of  their  own  loaf.  I  do  not 
say  that  Tom  Merriweather  or  his  wife,  or  Mrs.  Mcln- 
tyre,  or  Sarah — who  had  married  Carter  Brooks — had 
any  such  thought;  for  they  were,  and  I  wish  their 
descendants  to  know  it,  at  all  times  as  kind  and  even 
affectionate  to  me  as  though  I  was  of  their  own  blood ; 
but  I  knew  that  Mrs.  Ruggles  had  suggested,  in  her 
way,  that  "with  Mary's  property,  Mr.  Page  is  very 
well  off;  and  is  already  fitted  up,  and  in  a  position  to 
take  another  wife."  Besides  this,  my  love  for  Mary 
had  been  so  unselfish  that  it  was  rather  a  matter  of 
pride  and  devotion  with  me  to  show  that  I  had  no  de 
sire  to  profit  in  my  estate  by  what  she  brought  me. 
But  to  give  up  to  strangers  the  house  she  had  hal 
lowed  and  beautified,  was  more  than  I  could  consent 
to  do;  so  I  returned  to  Mr.  Mclntyre's  estate  the 
amount  of  the  purchase  money  of  the  place,  and  all 
of  the  hands  who  were  willing  to  leave  me.  Martha, 
the  cook,  and  her  husband,  Jack,  who  was  my  hostler 
and  man-of-all-work,  three  of  the  men  and  two  of  their 
wives  did  not  wish  to  go,  and  I  had  their  value  as 
sessed  and  paid  it  also  into  the  estate — not  all  at  once, 
but  in  two  installments.  As  to  the  increased  value  of 
the  place,  I  justly  considered  that  it  was  the  result  of 
my  own  exertions  and  Mary's  taste;  and  as  to  the  fur 
niture  of  the  house,  which  had  been  presented  to  Mary, 
I  returned  its  value  in  presents  of  the  like  kind  to  the 
different  members  of  her  family. 

Of  course  I  could  not  make  all  this  restitution  with 
out  remonstrance  and  opposition  from  Mary's  family, 
who,  I  am  sure,  did  not  desire  it — and  rather  feared 
22 


254  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS    OF 

that  it  should  place  them  in  a  somewhat  delicate  posi 
tion  ;  yet  who,  I  am  equally  sure,  from  my  knowledge 
of  human  nature,  could  not  really  regret  to  see  their 
means  increased,  and  secretly  thought,  after  awhile, 
that  they  were  under  no  obligations.  Even  Mrs.  Rug- 
gles  allied  herself  to  the  spirit  of  the  family,  and  con 
cerned  herself  vastly  about  what  "my  (her)  family" 
wished  and  did  not  wish. 

Whether  she  thought  that  I  was  performing  an  act 
of  such  superhuman  virtue  that  her  Stanley  could 
never  rival  it,  is  more  than  I  know.  But  I  do  know 
that  she  very  adroitly  manoeuvred  to  checkmate  my 
move,  if  it  were  so,  by  hinting,  with  much  solicitude, 
that  perhaps  I  was  deranged. 

The  good  woman  made  a  mistake,  if  her  idea  was 
that  my  act  was  an  effort  of  virtue.  After  thoroughly 
analyzing  my  motives,  I  long  ago  came  to  the  conclu 
sion  that  they  Avere  all  selfish.  I  have  stated  some  of 
them;  but  there  was  one  which  lay  deeper  still,  in  the 
constitution  of  my  mind,  which  perhaps  had  more  to  do 
with  my  act  than  any  other. 

I  declare  that  if  I  had  a  million  pounds  sterling,  and 
had  to  take  the  trouble  and  anxiety  of  its  safe  invest 
ment  and  judicious  management,  I  .would  willingly 
relinquish  it  for  a  stipend  secure  in  its  source,  and  giv 
ing  no  trouble  about  its  collection ;  or,  rather,  I  would 
speedily  and  purposely  spend  it  until  I  could  reduce  a 
portion,  however  small,  to  as  perfect  security  in  its 
preservation  and  yield  as  is  compatible  with  human 
ail  airs. 

I  had  no  one  dependent  upon  me;  for  my  mother 
and  brother  Eldred  had  a  sufficient  support,  and  my 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  255 

only  sister  was  married  to  a  man  of  considerable  prop 
erty.  With  my  home,  I  could,  by  my  own  exertions, 
provide  the  little  I  needed ;  and  the  annoyances  of 
managing  a  lot  of  negroes — having  to  settle  their  dis 
putes  with  each  other,  and  their  infractions  of  law ;  to 
be,  in  fact,  responsible  toward  God  and  man  for  their 
health,  conduct,  and  morals — was  more  than  I  was  at 
all  inclined  to  undergo  merely  for  my  own  benefit.  I 
have  always  thought  that  wealth  was  dearly  purchased 
by  the  loss  of  content  and  quiet,  and  I  never  have  been 
able  to  sympathize  with  those  who  make  wealth,  con 
sidered  as  wealth,  a  good  thing  in  any  degree.  Why 
should  I  toil,  and  torment  myself  for  myself? 

It  does  very  well  to  talk  about  philanthropy  and 
public  spirit  and  exerting  natural  talents  for  philan 
thropic  and  public  objects,  and  I  agree  that  a  man  does 
owe  to  his  fellows  a  just  return  for  the  benefits  he  re 
ceives  from  them.  But  is  it  to  be  pretended  that  be 
cause  a  man  should  not  bury  his  talents  he  should 
therefore  make  himself  miserable?  Now,  a  man,  what 
ever  his  talents,  owes  before  God  his  first  duty  to  him 
self;  and  the  manner  in  which  he  has  exerted  his  talents 
for  his  own  moral  benefit  is  what  he  shall  be  required 
to  answer  for.  It  will  be  vain  for  him  to  plead  that  he 
has  done  great  things  in  music,  painting,  oratory,  med 
icine,  law,  architecture,  or  any  other  branch  of  art  or 
science,  when  he  is  brought  to  account  for  the  faith, 
charity,  and  justice  in  his  own  heart  toward  God  and 
his  fellow-men.  He  will  be  answered:  -'These  ought 
you  to  have  done,  and  not  to  leave  the  other  undone." 

No  universal  rule  can  be  laid  down  as  to  what  is  the 
proper  degree  of  exerting  one's  talents,  except  that 


256  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

founded  upon  common  sense :  that  be  should  cultivate 
and  exert  them  with  due  reference  to  more  important 
duties  to  himself  and  others.  I  know  one  who  has  a 
very  extraordinary  talent  for  painting;  but  to  cultivate 
and  exert  it  to  the  utmost  would  be  to  the  injury  of  her 
eyesight,  and  the  neglect  of  her  duties  to  her  family. 
I,  myself,  have  had  good  talents  which  would  have 
made  me  an  eminent  lawyer,  a  wealthy  man,  or  a  suc 
cessful  politician ;  but  it  would  have  been  at  the  ex 
pense  of  my  peace  of  mind,  and  my  good  feelings  to  niy 
fellow-men.  If  I  thought  it  best  to  content  myself  with 
a  very  moderate  fortune,  and  the  exercise  of  my  abili 
ties  only  so  far  as  was  necessary  to  secure  that  fortune, 
and  for  the  performance  of  my  engagements  or  obliga 
tions  to  others,  who  can  blame  me  ?  I  have  no  child, 
and  no.  man  can  say  that  I  have  wronged  him  to  the 
value  of  a  cent  by  my  choice  of  conduct,  or  that  by  it 
I  have  been  lacking  in  charity  toward  him ;  and  I  cer 
tainly  cannot  say  that  I  have  done  myself  an  injury,  for 
I  have  in  consequence  of  it  been  a  comparatively  con 
tented  man. 

There  was  still  another  motive  which,  though  it  may 
appear  trivial,  yet  I  know  exerted  a  strong  influence 
in  determining  me  not  to  reserve  Mary's  fortune.  I 
was  actually  afraid  that  I  would  marry  again,  and  was 
jealous  that  any  other  woman  should  profit  in  property 
by  her  death,  and  jealous  also  lest  any  other  woman 
should  be  allowed  by  my  weakness  to  interfere  with 
the  sacred  memories  associated  with  every  object  her 
beloved  hands  had  arranged  or  adorned.  Though  I 
had  been  almost  perfectly  happy  in  my  marriage,  I  had 
a  reasonable  fear  that  it  might  not  be  so  a  second  time  ; 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  257 

had  a  natural  dread  of  undergoing  the  suffering  of  losing 
a  second  wife,  if  she  should  be  a  good  one ;  and  knew 
that  I  was  still  a  young  man,  and  that  I  had  rather  a 
facility  for  falling  in  love.  In  fine,  I  distrusted  myself. 

When  a  man  says  that  he  distrusts  himself  it  may  be 
set  down  that  he  has  had  sad  reason  for  his  distrust. 

It  is  only  the  fool,  the  madman,  or  the  wholly  inex 
perienced  who  has  perfect  self-confidence.)  For  my  own 
part,  the  experience  of  three  or  four  drinking  bouts  dur 
ing  these  six  years  taught  me  that  my  only  safety  from 
the  dominion  of  my  appetites  and  passions  was  that 
they  should  be  preserved  from  temptation.  I  am  in 
clined  to  believe  that  with  most  men,  in  a  thousand 
cases  to  one,  to  be  preserved  from  temptation  is  to  be 
delivered  from  evil.  Blood  and  education  are  of  great 
assistance,  but  the  absence  of  temptation  is  the  only 
safety. 

But  to  resume  my  narrative:  passing  over  these  six 
years  I  found  myself  thirty-two  years  old,  living  alone 
at  my  residence,  The  Holt,  occupying  myself  with  my 
books  and  farm,  and  practicing  my  profession  only  so 
far  as  my  duties  to  others,  and  the  necessities  for  my 
own  support  required  me.  The  activity  of  my  life  was 
over ;  and  from  that  time  to  this  I  have  led  a  sort  of 
passive  existence ;  like  one  condemned  to  death  who 
saunters  along  the  road  amusing  himself  by  looking  at 
this  or  that  trivial  object  until  the  place  is  reached  and 
his  turn  shall  come. 


22* 


258  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

IN  spite  of  my  books  and  my  farming  occupations  1 
was  lonely  at  The  Holt.  I  have  never  thought 
myself  very  social,  on  the  contrary,  most  of  my  time  I 
have  sought  to  spend  in  solitude,  but  the  solitude  I 
most  liked  has  been  one  from  which  I  could  emerge  at 
once  whenever  it  suited  me.  To  have  to  visit  the  houses 
of  others  to  find  pleasant  company  is  a  sad  fate  for  any 
man,  and  I  have  always  therefore  preferred  to  have 
some  one  under  my  own  roof  with  whom  I  could  ex 
change  ideas ;  or  rather,  as  some  of  my  friends  think, 
I  fear,  to  whom  I  can  be  dogmatic  or  sentimental  at 
my  pleasure.  In  this  respect  a  good  wife  who  knows 
her  duties  and  has  a  woman's  eye  to  her  own  peace 
and  influence,  is  the  best  companion  man  can  have;  for 
the  wisest,  of  us  like  sometimes  to  babble,  and  the  most 
amiable  of  us  who  really  think  at  all  have  some  fixed 
and  favorite  ideas  we  are  fond  of  imparting. 

Being  lonely  I  invited  Mr.  Thomas  J.  Mario w  to 
bring  his  young  wife,  and  her  infant  and  little  step 
daughter,  and  stay  at  my  house  as  long  as  was  con 
venient  for  all  parties. 

I  had  been  acquainted  with  Mr.  Marlow,  who  was  a 
Northerner,  for  many  years  while  he  was  a  book-keeper 
in  Yatton,  and  knew  him  to  be  very  amiable,  indus 
trious,  and  intelligent — a  really  good  man.  His  first 
wife,  Priscilla  Hunter,  I  had  never  liked  much,  on  ac 
count  of  her  quick  temper  and  violent  prejudices,  but 


AliRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  259 

she  had  made  him  a  good  wife — had  kept  his  clothes 
and  house  in  order,  and  preserved  his  spirit  from  stag 
nation,  had  borne  him  two  children,  a  girl  and  a  boy, 
and  just  after  the  birth  of  the  latter  had  pestered  her 
self  into  a  fever,  and  died.  He  bore  his  loss  meekly ; 
put  his  infant  boy,  who  died  afterward  in  teething,  out 
to  nurse,  and  took  the  girl  off  with  him  to  the  North, 
where  the  next  I  heard  of  him  he  was  a  book-keeper  in 
a  banking  establishment  to  which  his  proficiency  and 
known  integrity  commended  him.  Priscilla's  father, 
Old  Johnny  Hunter,  a  particularly  hard  old  man,  died 
in  a  year  or  two,  and  left  his  little  granddaughter  Jane 
a  legacy  of  quite  a  fine  tract  of  eight  hundred  acres  of 
land  in  the  northeastern  corner  of  the  county  on  the 
river,  which  the  old  man  had  commenced  to  improve 
by  putting  up  two  or  three  cabins  and  making  a  small 
clearing. 

The  next  I  heard  of  Marlow  he  had  married  a  Miss 
Mehetabel  Crosby,  a  second-cousin  of  Mrs.  Snow,  and 
intended  in  the  fall  of  the  next  year  removing  with  her 
and  his  child  back  to  Yatton.  Unless  he  had  been 
extraordinarily  successful,  or  his  new  wife  had  money, 
which  was  not  very  likely,  I  knew  he  had  no  capital 
to  start  as  a  merchant,  and  I  could  not  imagine  his 
reason  for  coming  back  to  Yatton  to  take  up  again  his 
work  as  a  book-keeper.  Nor  do  I  yet  know  the  exact 
reason,  unless  the  poor  man  found  some  comfort  in 
being  near  the  bones  of  his  first  wife,  for  even  he,  if  he 
had  no  other  motive  for  coming,  must  have  had  firm 
ness  enough  to  resist  the  vehement  desire  of  his  second 
wife  to  enter  upon  the  enjoyment  of  paradise  as  a 
Southern  planteress,  which  I  found  she  had  prepared 
herself  to  do  upon  Jenny's  cotton  plantation  (!). 


200  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

They  arrived  at  Yatton  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  and 
found  temporary  board  and  lodging  at  Squire  Carter's, 
where,  her  mother  being  in  feeble  health,  Jane  (still 
Miss  Jane)  presided.  Mrs.  Marlow  had  an  infant 
about  four  months  old,  and  when  I  called  with  Marlow 
to  be  introduced  to  her,  I  attributed  to  it  her  dowdy 
appearance,  and  to  the  negro  girl  she  had  as  nurse,  the 
cross,  discontented  expression  upon  her  otherwise 
rather  pretty  countenance.  A  negro  girl  nurse  is  a 
great  trial  to  the  patience  of  Southern  mothers,  and 
must  be  dreadful  to  a  Northern  woman  who  is  igno 
rant  of  and  unaccustomed  to  the  peculiar  carelessness 
and  filthy  untidiness  of  the  black  race. 

Spring  came,  and  Mai'lovv  had  not  succeeded  in  get 
ting  a  permanent  situation.  He  had  found  occasional 
employment  in  posting  books,  and  doing  copying  for 
lawyers  and  others,  but  it  did  not  afford  a  support,  and 
his  money,  I  judged,  was  nearly  gone.  Besides  this, 
it  came  to  my  knowledge  that  he  was  uncomfortably 
situated  at  Squire  Carter's,  where  his  wife  had  had 
some  sort  of  falling  out  with  Miss  Jane,  who,  however, 
was  a  prudent  girl,  and  never  said  about  others  or  her 
self  more  than  was  necessary.  So  I  invited  him  to 
make  my  house  his  home  for  awhile. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  I  prevailed  upon  him  to 
accept  what  his  wife  seemed  eager  for  upon  its  first 
proposal.  She  had  fallen  out  with  the  Carters,  and 
from  some  cause  was  out  of  the  good  graces  of  her 
cousin,  Mrs.  Snow,  who,  upon  her  first  arrival,  had 
welcomed  her  with  effusion,  and  had  seemed  over 
whelmed  with  the  privilege  of  indulging  herself  once 
more  in  Yankee  talk  to  her  heart's  content;  and  I  did 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  9fil 

not  wonder  that  the  poor  woman  should  feel  desolate, 
and  be  glad  of  the  opportunity  of  a  quiet  home.  If  I 
had  known  that  after  Mrs.  Snow  had  heard  from  her 
everything  everybody  in  and  about  their  native  place 
had  thought,  clone,  suffered,  and  hoped  for  the  last  eight 
or  ten  years,  she  had  in  her  turn  communicated  to  the 
eager  ears  and  retentive  memory  of  the  new-comer  all 
the  history,  past,  present,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  to 
come,  of  at  least  every  member  of  Mr.  Snow's  congre 
gation,  and  especially  all  the  particulars  about  me,  Mr. 
Marlow's  special  friend,  and  my  history,  I  would  not, 
I  presume,  have  been  so  pressing  in  my  invitation. 
But  I  did  not  know  it;  which  is  perhaps  well,  as  I 
should  have  lost  the  knowledge  of  human  nature  ob 
tained  by  my  experience  and  observation  of  Mrs. 
Marlow. 

Marlow  protested  that  he  feared  to  give  trouble,  but 
I  insisted  that  far  from  it  he  and  his  family  would  be 
doing  a  good  deed  to  relieve  me  of  my  loneliness.  He 
also  insisted  upon  paying  board  as  he  did  at  Squire 
Carter's,  but  I  was  firm  that  the  little  he  and  his  would 
eat  would  only  be  wasted  if  they  did  not  consume  it, 
and  I  pointed  out,  what  was  true,  that  the  little  over 
sight  his  wife  might  occasionally  give  the  proverbially 
wasteful  negroes,  would  perhaps  save  me  twice  the 
amount  of  their  actual  expenses:  I  told  him,  what 
was  also  true,  that  if  Mrs.  Marlow  would  only  see 
sometimes  that  the  chickens  and  turkeys  were  attended 
to,  she  would  do  a  real  gainful  service  to  me.  The 
only  expense  I  wished  them  to  be  at  was  for  their 
washing,  which  I  could  not  have  done  on  the  place. 
Martha,  my  cook,  of  her  own  free  will,  did  my  washing, 


262  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

but  she  had  not  time  to  do  that  of  a  family,  nor  did  I 
feel  disposed  to  require  more  than  her  mistress  had 
required  of  her. 

One  Monday  morning  in  May  my  gig  and  wagon 
moved  them  out,  bag  and  baggage,  and  Mrs.  Marlow 
took  possession  of  the  wing  bed-room  because  I  thought 
it  would  give  her  more  privacy  and  more  freedom  in 
her  domestic  arrangements.  There  was  also  another 
reason,  which  I  kept  to  myself,  that  I  did  not  wish  my 
rest  disturbed  by  her  baby  if  it  should  be  colicky  or 
otherwise  noisy.  Little  Jenny,  who  was  about  seven 
years  old,  was  to  sleep  in  a  trundle-bed  in  the  back 
bed-room  which  adjoined  mine,  and  opened  into  her 
step-mother's,  and  Eliza,  the  little  negro  girl,  was  to 
sleep  on  a  pallet  in  the  same  room,  near  the  door. 

My  end  accomplished,  I  felt  greatly  relieved.  Here 
have  I  at  last,  said  I  to  myself,  and  that  without  the 
trouble  of  marrying  her,  a  lady  in  the  house  to  relieve 
me  of  household  duties  and  cares.  No  longer  shall  I 
have  to  sit  alone  at  my  table,  but  a  woman's  pleas 
ant  face  shall  be  seen  at  its  head,  and  her  pleasant 
voice  shall  be  heard — the  sweetest  sound  which  from 
Adam's  time  has  ever  broken  solitude.  The  merry 
laughter  of  a  child  shall  again  echo  in  the  house,  and 
I  shall  watch  its  play  catching  fireflies  in  the  summer 
dusk  before  the  candles  are  lit,  and  no  longer  shall  I 
have  to  light  the  candles  in  the  dusk  to  relieve  myself 
from  gloom. 

The  next  morning  Martha  gave  us  a  nice  breakfast, 
and  Marlow  and  I  walked  into  town  to  our  respective 
labors,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  walked  out  again  to 
gether,  I  chatting  gayly  about  what  should  be  done  and 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  263 

left  undone  about  the  establishment,  he  barely  assent 
ing,  and  seeming  dubious  and  dull.  About  a  week  af 
terward,  when  Mrs.  Mario w  had  become,  as  I  thought, 
sufficiently  domesticated  and  at  leisure,  I  accosted  her 
just  after  breakfast,  and  delivered  to  her  the  keys  of  the 
pantry,  store-room,  and  safe,  asking  her  to  do  me  the 
favor  to  take  charge  of  them,  and  to  superintend  the 
giving  out  of  the  necessary  articles  to  cook.  I  told 
her  she  should  find  in  the  store-room  sweetmeats  and 
pickles,  jellies  and  jams,  with  which  my  mother  and 
Bel  had  continued  to  keep  me  supplied,  and  also  the 
flour,  meal,  and  meat,  and  all  the  other  usual  articles 
kept  on  hand  for  the  table  ;  that  in  the  pantry  were  the 
crockery,  napkins,  and  all  such  things ;  and  in  the  safe 
in  the  dining-room  were  also  butter,  cheese,  and  what 
she  should  find ;  I  did  not  know  all  mvself  in  either 
place,  but  she  could  soon  examine  for  herself. 

'Martha,"  said  I,  "will  take  a  great  deal  of  the 
trouble  off  your  hands,  madam,  for  she  is  a  good  cook, 
and  a  faithful  negro,  and  I  don't  think  you  shall  find 
her  either  impertinent  or  dishonest,  though  she  may  oc 
casionally  need  direction  when  you  wish  a  little  variety. 
Jack  has  the  key  of  the  smoke-house,  and  gives  out  the 
allowance  to  the  quarter  negroes  every  week,  so  you 
shall  not  be  troubled  with  them.'' 

"But,  Mr.  Page,"  said  she,  "do  you  let  Jack,  a  negro 
man,  have  the  key  of  your  smoke-house,  where  you  must 
have  a  great  deal  of  meat  and  other  valuable  articles  ?" 

"  Why  not,  madam  ?"  answered  I.  "  He  knows  how 
to  weigh  out  the  allowance  quite  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  But  I  don't  see,"  said  she  doubtfully,  "  how  you  can 
trust  him." 


264  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

Trust  him!"  said  I.  "Why,  my  dear  madam,  ho  is 
as  honest  as  most  white  people  at  least,  and  even  if  he 
were  inclined  to  be  otherwise,  he  knows  that  I  know 
just  what  quantities  of  articles  are  in  the  smoke-house, 
and  that  if  they  should  fall  short,  he  will  be  held  re 
sponsible." 

"  I'll  not  mind  the  trouble,"  said  Mrs.  Marlow,  "and 
if  you  will  give  me  the  key  of  the  smoke-house  also,  I 
will  see  to  Jack's  measurement — that  is  to  say,  if  it 
will  be  of  any  accommodation  to  you.  To  home  my 
mamma  always  saw  to  those  things  herself." 

"No  doubt,  madam,"  said  I;  "  but  your  mother  did 
not  ha.ve  a  lot  of  plantation  negroes  to  deal  with,  or 
she  would  have  found  it  no  very  agreeable  task.  I  find 
that  Jack  gets  along  very  well,  so  I'll  not  trouble  you 
in  that  matter." 

And  so  I  left,  having  first  told  Martha,  when  she 
came  to  me  to  get  out  the  dinner,  that  Mrs  Marlow 
would  attend  to  it  thereafter, — a  piece  of  information 
which  Martha  did  not  seem  to  be  greatly  rejoiced  at, 
though  she  said  nothing. 

Mrs.  Marlow,  I  had  found,  was,  after  all,  a  really 
nice  little  body,  rather  too  prim  and  starchy,  but  quite 
smiling,  and  very  willing  to  take  trouble  off  my  hands ; 
and  I  congratulated  myself  for  three  or  four  months 
upon  the  good  fortune  which  had  brought  her  to  my 
house. 

A  special  term  of  court  was  coming  on,  and  I  was 
kept  very  busy  preparing  for  it,  and,  in  consequence, 
was  not  always  able  to  get  out  to  my  dinner  at  the 
fixed  hour.  For  a  week  or  two  this  passed  without  re 
mark,  but  one  day  at  the  usual  hour  I  was  at  home, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  2G5 

and  dinner  was  announced,  and  Marlow  had  not  yet 
come,  and  I  suggested  to  the  lady  that  she  had  perhaps 
better  delay  the  meal  a  little  until  he  should  come. 
" Oh,  no,"  said  she  ;  "Mr.  Marlow  is  not  used  to  having 
his  dinner  so  late,  and  I  thought  he  had  better  take  the 
meal  at  his  usual  hour  in  town,  and  come  out  to  tea." 

"I  have  always  been  accustomed,  Mrs.  Marlow,  to 
have  my  dinner  at  this  hour,  but  I  really  dislike  that 
Mr.  Marlow  should  be  put  to  inconvenience " 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  interrupted  she  pertly,  "  beggars 
must  not  be  choosers,  and  I  am  sure  Mr.  Marlow  and 
I  are  only  too  happy  to " 

"  My  dear  madam,"  interrupted  I,  in  my  turn,  "  please 
do  not  talk  in  that  manner.  I  really  do  not  see  what 
other  arrangement  I  can  make  to  suit  myself;  but  if 
you  and  Mr.  Marlow  wish  your  dinner  at  an  earlier 
hour,  it  will  be  easy  for  you  to  have  it,  and  I  can  take 
mine  when  I  come  home/' 

The  next  morning  as  we  walked  to  town  after  break 
fast,  I  told  Marlow  what  I  had  told  his  wife,  and  it 
came  out  that  he  had  not  found  the  least  objection  to 
the  dinner  hour:  "But,"  said  he,  "Mrs.  Marlow  has 
peculiar  ideas  upon  such  subjects,  and  though  I  always 
find  it  best  to  humor  her,  I  am  mortified  to  think  that 
she  may  have  interfered  with  your  comfort." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  I.  "The  matter  can  be  arranged 
to  suit  all  parties." 

Pretty  soon  I  began  to  notice,  day  after  day,  that 

only  two  biscuits  and  a  small  piece  of  corn  bread  were 

reserved  for  my  dinner,  and  though  it  was  quite  as 

much  as  I  wished  to  eat,  I  rather  disliked  to  be  so  al- 

23 


2%  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

lowanced.  So  I  took  occasion  to  speak  to  Martha  on 
the  subject,  and  when  I  remonstrated,  she  said  : 

"  The  Lord  bless  you,  master,  it  ain't  my  fault.  That 
ihere  woman  don't  even  seem  to  want  to  give  out 
enough  to  go  all  around  once ;  and  she  is  always  a 
lecturin'  and  scoldin'  me  about  wastin',  and  a  tellin' 
me  that  me  and  Jack  don't  earn  our  salt." 

"Don't  speak  of  Mrs.  Marlow  in  that  manner,  Mar 
tha,"  said  I. 

"But  it's  the  Lord's  truth,  master,"  said  Martha,  em 
phatically.  "  You  dun  know  that  Mrs.  Marlow.  Arter 
awhile  she  run  you  wild  if  she  go  on  as  she's  been 
gwine  " 

"  You  don't  like  Mrs.  Marlow,  Aunt  Martha,"  said  I. 

"Like  her?"  said  she.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  what  she 
done  at  Squire  Carter's  ?  She  wanted  ole  Miss  Carter 
to  be  moved  out  of  her  room  for  her  to  take  it,  and  got 
mighty  mad,  and  said  as  how  Mr.  Marlow  paid  for  the 
best,  and  she  was  gwine  to  have  it ;  and  her  and  Miss 
Jane  had  it  high  and  low.  And  Miss  Carter's  cook  say 
as  how  she  runs  Mr.  Marlow  ravin'  distracted  for  all  he 
seem  so  quiet;  and  she  beats  that  poor  little  Jenny  till 
she  done  cow  her  down  worse'n  a  dog." 

"Never  mind,  Martha,"  said  I.  "Old  Phyllis  has 
been  exaggerating,  I  expect.  You  mind  your  work, 
and  I'll  speak  to  Mrs.  Marlow  about  giving  out  plenty." 

And  so  I  intended  to  do,  but  I  found  it  was  a  deli 
cate  matter  at  best,  and  with  the  new  light  old  Martha 
had,  truly  or  untruly,  thrown  upon  the  disposition  of 
Mrs.  Marlow,  there  were  fresh  complications  of  diffi 
culty.  How  I  managed  to  suggest  my  desire  that 
more  liberal  issues  of  provisions  should  be  made,  I  do 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  267 

not  remember,  though  I  know  it  was  with  many  a  hem 
and  haw;  but  I  recollect  full  well  how  Mrs.  Marlow 
pursed  her  lips  and  said:  "Very  well,  sir.  But  I 
thought  it  was  your  desire  to  save." 

"So  it  is,  Mrs.  Marlow,"  I  replied,  "and  you  are 
perfectly  right,  madam ;  but  don't  you  think  it  is  always 
less  trouble  to  give  out  a  little  too  much,  than  to  have 
too  little  ?  For  my  own  part,  I  have  always  found  that 
I  gained  in  comfort  by  letting  a  moderate  degree  of 
waste  pass  unnoticed." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Page.  It  was  at  your  desire  that 
I  took  the  keys,  and  I  am  sure  I  don't  wish  to  keep 
them  one  minute  longer  than  I  give  perfect  satisfac 
tion."  And  with  that  she  laid  the  keys  on  the  table, 
near  me. 

What  was  I  to  do?  I  could  not  see  my  servants 
suffer,  nor  did  I  wish  to  be  made  uncomfortable  my 
self;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  I  could  not  bear  to  have 
even  the  appearance  of  hurting  a  lady's  feelings — par 
ticularly  in  my  own  house.  Therefore  I  handed  her 
back  the  keys,  and  said : 

"  Do  not  mistake  me,  my  dear  madam.  I  had  not 
the  slightest  idea  of  taking  the  keys  from  you.  I  only 
suggested  what  I  thought  would  add  to  the  comfort  of 
yourself  as  well  as  that  of  the  rest  of  us ;  and  I  am 
glad  I  have  had  the  opportunity  of  telling  you  that  my 
desire  to  save  only  meant  that  I  did  not  like  extrava 
gant  waste.  You  will  oblige  me  by  taking  the  keys 
again,  and  going  on  as  I  am  sure  your  own  good  sense 
will  direct  you. " 

She  took  the  keys  again,  without  a  word,  and  I  had 
no  more  trouble  on  that  particular  score  again  very 
soon. 


268  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

But  ill  a  few  months  Mrs.  Marlow  was  more  at  home 
in  my  house  than  I  was,  and  she  began  to  suggest  im 
provements.  She  had  been  to  town  one  day,  in  my 
gig,  of  course,  and  had  looked  over  the  stock  in  Bright 
&  Robbing's  new  furniture  store.  In  the  evening  she 
brought  the  subject  of  bedsteads  into  the  conversation, 
and  talked  in  such  a  way  that  I  had  to  ask  her  if  her 
own  bedstead  (which  1  knew  was  a  fine  and  costly 
one,  though  then,  may  be,  a  little  old-fashioned)  was 
uncomfortable,  and  if  it  would  please  her  that  I  should 
get  a  new  one. 

"Oh  no,"  said  she;  "I  was  not  thinking  about  my 
self.  It  is  true  that  the  old  bedstead  creaks  a  good 
deal,  and  looks  as  though  it  used  to  have  bugs  in  it; 
but  it  will  do.  1  was  thinking  about  the  one  in  Jenny's 
room." 

"But  Jenny  sleeps  on  her  trundle-bed,  Mrs.  Mar- 
low,"  said  1. 

"That  is  true,"  said  she;  "but  suppose  company 
should  come !" 

"Mrs.  Marlow,  the  bedstead  in  Jenny's  room  is  a 
fine  and  substantial  piece  of  furniture,  and  lit  for  any 
company." 

"So  it  is,  Mr.  Page;  but  then  it  is  so  heavy  that  it 
is  hard  to  manage,  and,  besides,  does  not  suit  the  other 
furniture.  Now  one  of  those  new-fashioned,  light  four- 
posters,  with  a  cornish  on  top,  and  a  rich  valance,  such 
as  mamma  has,  would  suit  exactly — and  Bright  & 
Robbins  have  just  received  a  number  of  them  from 
Boston." 

Now  there  were  many  offensive  things  in  Mrs.  Mar- 
low's  conversation  besides  its  tone  and  spirit.  The 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  269 

imputation  of  bugs  was  very  peculiarly  offensive  ;  for, 
besides  that  I  knew  it  was  wholly  false,  it  was  in 
tended  as  a  slur  upon  my  former  housekeeping,  if  not 
even  upon  the  neatness  of  my  dead  wife.  Moreover, 
Mrs.  Marlow's  evident  desire  to  be  mistress,  and  dis 
place  and  upturn  what  Mary's  correct  taste  and  careful 
hands  had  arranged,  and  what  had  been  religiously 
kept  just  as  she  had  arranged  it,  outraged  my  feelings, 

and  I  would  have  seen  Mrs.  Marlow Well,  there 

is  no  use  in  writing  hard  things ;  but  it  makes  me 
angry  even  to  remember  the  design  and  spirit  of  the 
woman. 

I  was  already  getting  disenchanted  of  the  pleasure 
of  having  strangers  about  rny  house,  even  for  sociabil 
ity;  but  two  incidents  which  followed  in  close  succes 
sion,  just  after  this,  showed  me  Mrs.  Marlow  in  her 
true  and  odious  character,  and  showed  the  true  cause 
for  poor  Marlow's  habitual  silence  and  lowness  of 
spirits.  When  he  had  formerly  lived  in  Yatton,  he  was 
noted  for  his  genial  disposition  and  gentle,  playful 
humor ;  but  on  his  return  I  had  noticed  that  he  was 
silent  and  reserved,  and  rarely  smiled.  I  had  attrib 
uted  it  to  his  want  of  success  in  business,  and  had 
wondered  how  one  naturally  so  hopeful  and  cheerful 
should  be  so  habitually  cast  down  by  such  a  cause.  I 
now  discovered  that  his  wife  gave  him  good  cause  for 
lowness  of  spirits;  and  I  actually  think  he  was  the 
most  miserable  man  I  have  ever  known — more  misera 
ble  than  Fitzroy,  because  he  had  more  feeling.  His 
misery  was  not  only  active,  but  also  passive.  He  had 
to  bear  the  torture  in  silence.  It  was  his  only  comfort 
that  he  thought  no  one  knew  his  misery. 
23* 


270  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

Here  is  how  it  was. 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  property  left  little 
Jenny  by  her  grandfather ;  and  I  have  spoken  of  the 
child  only  incidentally,  because  I  knew  I  should  have 
occasion  so  describe  her  in  order  to  present  her  espe 
cial  sorrows  in  their  true  light. 

She  was  by  nature  a  bright  blue-eyed  little  thing,  who 
had  inherited  her  mother's  spirit,  tempered  with  her 
father's  calmness  and  mildness  of  disposition.  I  had 
noticed,  ever  since  she  had  been  at  my  house,  that  she 
was  not  gay  and  confident  as  were  other  children  of  her 
age ;  and  that  even  when  she  was  surprised  into  some 
expression  of  delight  or  playfulness,  it  was  but  a  flash, 
and  left  her  confused  and  embarrassed.  Even  when 
she  would  be  tripping  about  the  yard  among  the 
shrubbery,  she  never  pulled  a  flower — and  was  always 
stopping  and  looking  toward  the  house,  as  though  to 
hear  a  call. 

Well,  one  morning  when  I  had  got  about  half  way 
to  town,  I  remembered  that  I  had  left  on  the  table  in 
my  room  some  important  papers,  which  I  had  to  use 
that  day,  and  told  Marlow  to  walk  on,  and  I  would  re 
turn  and  get  them.  When  I  arrived  at  the  house,  I 
had  hardly  put  my  foot  in  my  room  when  I  heard 
Mrs.  Marlow,  in  the  next  room,  exclaim,  in  a  shrill, 
angry  voice,  to  some  one:  "  Come  here,  you  nasty  little 
wretch  !  Why  can't  I  kill  you  !  There  !  and  there  ! 
and  there!"  and  her  blows  with  a  heavy  switch  fell 
fast  and  furious,  and  she  trampled  about  the  room  as 
though  dragging  a  screaming  child  over  the  floor,  and 
continued  to  beat  her ;  and  the  screams  were  so  heart 
rending  that,  after  knocking  in  vain  at  the  door,  I 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  271 

opened  it  and  saw  Mrs.  Marlow,  livid  with  passion, 
holding  little  Jenny  by  the  hair  and  belaboring  her 
with  a  switch  even  too  large  to  whip  a  ten-year  old 
boy  with.  When  she  saw  me  she  let  the  child  go,  and 
retreated  to  her  own  room,  putting  up  her  hair  a»  she 
went,  and  casting  back  at  me  a  glance  of  mingled  rage 
and  fear. 

Good  heavens !  And  was  this  Marlow's  wife  ?  the 
daughter  of  a  preacher  ?  and  a  lineal  offshoot  of  the 
Pilgrim  Fathers  ? 

I  raised  the  little  girl  from  the  floor,  and  took  her  in 
my  arms  and  tried  to  console  her ;  but  she  would  not 
be  comforted.  Terror  was  on  every  feature  of  her  face, 
and  she  tried  to  push  me  away,  saying  faintly:  "Do 
go  away,  Mr.  Page;  please  do  go  away.  She  will 
whip  me  worse.  Oh,  she  says  she  wants  to  kill  me ! 
and  she  beats  me  every  day — and  she  will  beat  me 
worse  now !"  and  the  poor  little  creature  sobbed,  and 
shivered,  and  seemed  to  try  to  resign  herself  to  the  fate 
she  feared. 

To  say  that  I  was  indignant,  would  be  too  mild  an 
expression.  But  what  was  I  to  do  ?  I  really  feared 
to  leave  the  child  there  without  a  protector.  After 
some  cogitation,  I  hit  upon  a  plan.  I  asked  Jenny  if 
she  wouldn't  like  to  go  to  town  with  me,  and  spend  the 
day  with  Mrs.  Diggory's  grandchildren?  and  when 
she  assented,  I  knocked  at  Mrs.  Marlow's  door,  and 
said  to  her,  inside,  as  calmly  as  I  could:  "Mrs.  Mar- 
low,  Jenny  is  quiet  now.  Will  you  let  her  go  with 
me  to  town  to  spend  the  day  at  Mrs.  Diggory's  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Marlow,  "she  can  go  with  you 

i.<)  town "  and  she  added  something  I  could  not 

catch,  in  an  undertone. 


272  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

I  told  the  little  thing  to  get  her  sun-bounet,  ordered 
Jack  to  harness  up  ray  gig,  and  took  her  to  Mrs.  Dig- 
gory's,  where,  when  I  called  for  her  in  the  afternoon, 
I  found  her  playing  with  the  other  children,  but  awk 
wardly  and  a  little  reserved,  and,  from  her  movements, 
evidently  quite  sore. 

During  the  day,  Marlow  had  occasion  to  call  at  my 
office,  arid  I  took  the  opportunity  to  tell  him  what  I 
feared  he  did  not  know ;  but  I  did  so  as  cautiously  and 
gently  as  I  could.  I  told  him  that  on  my  return  to 
the  house  in  the  morning  I  had  found  Mrs.  Marlow 
whipping  Jenny  with  a  very  large  switch,  and  that, 
from  what  I  learned,  it  was  a  common  occurrence,  and 
I  asked  him  if  he  did  not  think  it  would  be  well  to 
advise  with  her  on  the  subject. 

"Advise  with  her !"  said  he ;  then  rising  and  coming 
up  to  me,  he  placed  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and, 
looking  at  me  with  a  world  of  sorrow  and  perplexity 
in  his  eyes,  he  said:  "  So  you  have  found  it  out  at  last ! 
Page,  I  am  the  most  wretched  of  men!"  and  casting  a 
wistful  look  at  me,  he  turned  and  left  the  office. 

That  night  I  heard  the  first  of  a  series  of  tirades 
which  were  soon  to  make  the  place  too  hot  for  me  and 
Mrs.  Marlow.  She  had  lost  all  shame  and  desire  for 
concealment  when  I  had  discovered  her  violent  charac 
ter,  and  seemed  rather  to  wish  to  display  what  she 
could  do  in  the  way  of  vituperation  and  malice. 

Her  windows  were  up,  as  were  mine,  for  the  weather 
was  warm.  About  nine  o'clock,  as  I  was  busily  en 
gaged  in  drawing  up  an  important  bill  in  chancery,  my 
attention  was  attracted  by  the  loud  and  excited  tones 
of  her  voice.  I  looked,  and  saw  her  standing  near  a 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  273 

window,  and,  occasionally,  as  she  talked,  glancing  over 
at  me,  whom  she  could  see  with  perfect  distinctness. 
As  it  was  evident  she  wished  me  to  hear  what  she  had 
to  say,  I  did  not  rise,  as  I  might  have  done,  and  close 
the  window ;  for,  as  I  saw  that  the  woman  was  bent 
upon  having  her  spite  out  for  my  benefit  at  some  time, 
I  thought  the  sooner  it  was  over  the  better. 

"Yes,  sir,"  exclaimed  she,  in  a  rage,  to  her  husband, 
"where  is  the  fine  plantation  and  the  paradise  you 
were  to  take  me  to  ?  You  have  no  plantation,  sir  !" 

"I  never  told,  or  even  intimated  to  you,  that  I  had 
one,  my  dear,"  said  Marlow,  mildly. 

"You  didn't?  Well,  sir,  if  you  want  to  get  out  of 
it  that  way  you  may  do  so.  That  nasty  little  brat  has 
some  land,  and  you  are  too  tender  to  her  to  make  use 
of  it,  but  will  let  me  and  my  child  starve.  When  you 
courted  me " 

"Stop,  my  dear,"  interrupted  Marlow,  "I  rather 
think  the  boot  is  on  the  other  leg.  If  you  had  not 
been  so  very  kind  and  motherly  to  Jenny,  I  never " 

"No,  of  course  you  would  never,"  exclaimed  she. 
"  You  married  me,  for  what  ?  Because  you  loved  me  ? 
No;  I  knew  it;  you  never  did  love  me,  and  you  dare 
now  to  acknowledge  it!  You  married  me  to  take  care 
of  that  little  chit!  Ah,  I  thank  God,  who  sees  and 
hears  me  now,  at  this  very  moment;"  and  she  clasped 
her  hands  and  looked  upward  almost  ecstatically,  as 
though  she  was  really  glad  that  God  had  an  opportu 
nity  to  look  upon  such  persecuted  meekness.  "I  thank 
God  that  not  one  drop  of  my  blood  is  in  the  muddy, 
stinking  stream  in  her  veins,  the  deceitful  little  brat ! 
She  got  that  from  another  woman,  your  firet  love,  who 
from  what  I  hear  was  a  mean  and  deceitful " 


274  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

"By  God,  madam!"  exclaimed  Marlow,  much  agi 
tated,  "that  is  too  much!  You  shan't  stand  there  and 
insult  my  dead  wife !  You " 

"Your  dead  wife!"  interrupted  she  with  a  sneer. 
"Your  dead  wife!  Oh  yes!  you  are  mighty  touchy 
about  your  dead  wife,  but  when  do  you  ever  think  of 
your  living  wife  ?  What  have  you  ever  done  for  me,  I 
would  like  to  know  ?  When  you  first  married  me,  you 
lived  at  my  papa's  house,  and  now " 

"Stop  again,  madam !"  said  Marlow.  "I  did  live  at 
your  father's,  but  it  was  because  you  would  have  it  so, 
and  I  paid  all  the  expenses  of  the  whole  family  while 
I  did  so,  and  loaned  your  father  money  into  the  bar 
gain." 

"Paid  all  the  expenses!  Loaned  money!  You  say 
so !  'I  paid,  I  paid  !'  That's  what  you  always  throw 
up  to  me !  1 1  was  an  honor  to  you,  sir,  to  be  admitted 
into  my  papa's  house!  The  Reverend  Jeremiah 
Crosby  is  as  far  above  you  as  a  man  well  can  be 
above  another,  and  you  throw  up  to  me  that  you  paid! 
you  paid  !  You  have  taken  me  away  from  my  home 
and  parents,  but,  you  paid !  You  are  permitting  me  and 
my  child  to  live  upon  a  stingy  fool  who  begrudges " 

"Mrs.  Marlow,"  said  Marlow,  in  a  mournful,  plead 
ing  tone,  "don't  abuse  Mr.  Page.  For  God's  sake  have 
at  least  a  little  decency.  For  the  Lord's  sake  let  me 
alone,  and  do  not  torment  me.  You  know  that  I  am 
obliged  to  submit  to  your  abuse.  I  can't  whip  you  as 
I  would  a  man,  and  I  cannot  commit  suicide  even  for 
all  the  misery  you  make  me  suffer.  Have  a  little  mercy 
on  me!" 

"Whip  me!     You  brute,  whip  me!     I'd — like — to 


ASK  AH  AM  PAGE,  ESQ.  275 

—  see  —  you  —  lay — the — weight — of — your — finger — 
on — me!  Commit  suicide!  No!  you  coward!  A  man 
who  will  let  another  insult  his  wife  as  that  Page  of 
yours  did  me  to-day,  by  bursting  into  the  room  where 
he  knew  I  was,  hasn't  got  spirit  enough  to  .kill  himself! 
Suicide!  You  try  to  frighten  me  by  threatening  to 
kill  yourself — me,  a  poor  lone  woman " 

"You  are  mistaken,  madam,"  said  he,  "I  did  not 
threaten  to  commit  suicide." 

But  why  should  I  continue  all  this  scene !  It  can 
easily  be  imagined  by  any  one  who  has  ever  seen  a 
violent  woman  in  a  rage  with  a  man  she  does  not  fear. 

Poor  Marlow!  This  was  not  the  first  or  the  last 
trial  of  the  poor  inoffensive  well-meaning  fellow,  who 
in  the  fullness  of  his  affection  had  married  the  woman 
really  because  she  was  kind  to  his  little  motherless 
daughter,  and  he  had  persuaded  himself  to  love  her 
for  it. 

There  is  no  creature  on  earth  more  spiteful  and  cow 
ardly  than  an  ill-tempered  woman  with  a  husband  for 
whom  she  has  no  fear ;  and  there  is  no  creature  more 
to  be  pitied  than  her  victim ;  particularly  if  he  honestly 
love  her,  as  most  such  unfeared,  unrespected  husbands 
do  love  their  wives — only  too  much. 

One  of  the  most  touching  expressions  in  the  whole 
Bible  is  that  of  David.  "  It  was  not  an  enemy  who 
reproached  me;  then  I  could  have  borne  it." 

This  woman  hated  little  Jenny,  and  hated  her  hus 
band  on  Jenny's  account.  If  Jenny  had  died,  Marlow 
would  have  inherited  the  property,  which  would  con 
sequently  then  be  the  property  of  Mrs.  Marlow  and  her 
child  or  children,  and  Mrs.  Marlow  wished  her  out  of 


276  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

the  way.  I  verily  believe  that  but  for  the  law  she 
would  have  murdered  her  outright.  The  idea  of  having 
her  own  delicate  neck  stretched  alone  restrained  her. 
As  it  was,  she  was  trying  to  kill  her  spirit,  and  would 
soon  have  killed  her  body,  too,  by  slow  degrees  the  law 
could  not  notice. 

Although  the  tirade  I  have  attempted  to  narrate  was 
private,  and  treated  as  if  it  were  unheard  by  me,  Mrs. 
Marlow's  aversion  to  me  soon  became  too  open  and  vio 
lent  to  pass  unnoticed,  and,  not  to  prolong  a  disagree 
able  subject,  I  need  not  say  they  presently  left  my  house. 
Marlow  himself  proposed  it,  and  I  did  not  oppose. 
They  all  in  a  short  while  moved  back  to  the  North,  and 
I  never  afterward  heard  of  them,  except  through  an 
advertisement  of  the  sale  of  Jenny's  patrimony — an 
order  for  which  Marlow  procured  from  the  Probate 
Court  by  his  attorney  two  years  afterward.  He  seemed 
to  wish  to  sever  every  connection  with  those  who  had 
known  him  in  his  earlier  and  happier  days. 

I  thought  it  was  very  weak  in  him  to  refuse  the 
offer  I  made  to  take  the  little  girl  and  raise  and  educate 
her,  but  he  seemed  to  think  that  he  might  thereby  ex 
pose  to  the  world  the  wretchedness  of  his  life,  or,  at 
any  rate,  set  the  world  to  inquire  into  the  reasons  why 
he  had  parted  with  his  child  to  a  stranger. 


ABM  AH  AM  PAGE,  ESQ.  277 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

I  HAVE  purposely  omitted  several  scenes  with  Mrs. 
Marlow,  in  which  she  abused  me  roundly,  and 
brought  up  my  past  failings,  so  far  as  they  had  been 
imparted  to  her  by  her  cousin,  with  an  accuracy  of  de 
tail  and  a  power  of  comment,  which  argued  well  for 
the  soundness  of  her  reasoning  faculties  and  the  bril 
liancy  of  her  imagination.  My  frolic  at  Colonel  Stew 
art's  party  and  my  frolics  of  the  past  seven  years  were 
magnified  until  even  I,  who  knew  the  facts,  was  con 
vinced  that  I  was,  almost,  if  not  quite,  a  lost  man ;  and 
my  restitution  of  my  wife's  property  to  her  family  fitted 
me  for  hell  as  a  hypocrite,  or  for  an  asylum  and  straight- 
jacket  as  a  lunatic — and  I  might  take  my  choice. 

I  have  purposely  omitted  all  this  because  I  would 
not  be  thought  to  take  pleasure  in  detailing  the  follies 
and  wickedness  of  my  fellow-creatures,  much  less  those 
of  a  woman.  Indeed  I  would  not  have  mentioned  Mrs. 
Marlow  at  all  had  I  not  been  convinced  that  though 
she  was  the  only  woman  of  her  vileness  I  ever  met  to 
know  well,  her  peculiarities  are  by  no  means  uncom 
mon,  though  manifested,  generally,  in  a  milder  degree. 
Ill  temper,  selfishness,  and  a  narrow  mind  are  not  un 
common,  and  together  they  make  vulgar  malice.  Add 
to  them  that  nervous  excitability  which  moves  the 
female  tongue,  and  you  have  a  Mrs.  Marlow.  Will 
any  one  tell  me  that  there  are  not  many  Mr?.  Marlows 
in  the  world  1  and  many  men  just  like  her  ? 
24 


278  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

But  my  experience  with  her  taught  me,  as  I  have 
before  observed,  that  it  was  not  pleasant,  unless  in  very 
rare  cases,  to  have  strangers  as  regular  inmates  of  one's 
house.  Solomon  says  :  "Withdraw  thy  foot  from  thy 
neighbor's  house;  lest  he  be  weary  of  thee,  and  so  hate 
thee."  If  it  be  not  well,  then,  for  either  party  to  visit 
too  frequently,  much  worse  is  it  to  take  up  abode  with 
"thy  neighbor" — unless  he  keep  a  boarding-house;  that 
most  wretched  of  all  human  institutions;  that  most 
pitiable,  in  cause  and  effect,  of  all  the  disasters  of  this 
estate  of  sin  and  misery. 

I  know  of  no  classes  of  human  creatures  in  each  of 
which  there  is  so  much  similarity  in  variety  as  in 
boarding-house  keepers  and  habitual  boarders.  The 
latter  I  can  dispose  of  in  three  words :  they  are  selfish 
ad  nauseam.  The  boarding-house  keepers,  however, 
are,  as  a  general  rule,  infinitely  superior  to  their  cus 
tomers.  Nothing  but  the  extreme  of  misery  could 
force  any  man  or  woman,  ordinarily  constituted,  to 
keep  a  boarding-house;  and  generally  those  who  have 
the  doubtful  energy  to  appeal  to  that  resort  are  good 
people,  who  have  been  reduced  to  poverty  either  by 
undue  confidence  in  others,  or  by  their  own  careless 
amiability.  So  far  as  iny  own  observation  extends,  in 
nine  out  of  ten  cases  a  boarding-house  keeper  is  very 
amiable,  and  very  much  troubled  and  imposed  upon — 
just  as  his  customers  are  very  selfish,  and  very  ill 
natured  and  exacting.  The  hotel-keeper  has  his  office, 
and  book-keepers,  and  clerks,  and  porters,  and  army  of 
waiters,  and  place  before  the  public,  and  all  the  impos 
ing  array  which  speaks  out  boldly  and  says :  Pay,  or 
quit  1 — be  contented,  or  leave !  Whereas  the  poor 


AliRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  279 

boarding-house  keeper  who,  may  be,  has  his  office  in 
his  hat,  and  who  has  only  two  or  three  waiters  and  one 
dilapidated  cook,  is  fair  game  for  the  bullying  spirit  of 
this  wicked  world,  in  which  the  rule  is  to  bully  or  be 
bullied  in  one's  dealings  with  the  public. 

Not  that  I  by  any  means  justify  the  boarding-house 
keeper  for  his  half-raw  mutton  and  overdone  beef,  with 
the  same  sauce  for  both ;  not  that  he  is  to  be  excused 
for  his  weak  and  muddy  coffee,  and  his  strong  and  oily 
butter,  his  soups  that  disappoint  one's  digestive  organs, 
and  his  pastries  that  make  a  mock  of  them !  I  abomi 
nate  his  loud  and  turbulent  dinner-bell,  and  his  creak 
ing  bedsteads ;  and  I  hold  him  responsible  for  his  bugs, 
and  scant  towels,  the  small  number  of  his  waiters,  and 
his  inches  of  candle,  and  smoky  lamps,  quite  as  much 
as  any  other  selfish  man  (the  word  "selfish"  is  rather 
a  redundancy) ;  but  when  I  reflect  upon  his  present  and 
what  he  must  have  been  in  his  past  sorrows — upon  the 
nervous  organization  of  his  wife,  and  the  natural  stu 
pidity  and  wayward  fancies  of  his  servants — I  find  in 
my  heart  a  sentiment  of  pity  which  makes  me  long 
never  to  witness  his  troubles  or  their  causes  again.  In 
fine,  the  hotel-keeper  (I  speak  of  the  class)  is  a  bullying, 
swindling  humbug,  and  the  boarding-house  keeper  is  a 
bullied,  swindled  humbug — and  that  is  about  the  differ 
ence  between  them. 

But  to  return  to  private  life.  An  old  bachelor  uncle, 
cousin,  or  brother  is  the  only  habitual  strange  inmate 
in  a  family  who  is  at  all  tolerable,  and  he  may  be  the 
most  handy  of  all  men,  and  the  greatest  convenience. 
You  never  have  to  wait  breakfast,  dinner,  or  supper 
for  him,  unless  you  are  rather  superhumauly  amiable 


280  LIFE  &ND  OPINIONS  OF 

or  affectionate.  Ho  can  run  errands,  trim  rose-bushes, 
keep  you  in  game,  arrange  fishing  tackle,  sit  up  with 
the  sick  or  fetch  the  doctor,  see  that  your  horses,  cows, 
pigs,  and  chickens  are  properly  fed,  salted,  watered, 
and  doctored,  stop  out  pigs,  train  dogs,  watch  the  baby 
or  the  soap,  pick  fruit,  keep  the  children  out  of  mis 
chief,  and  do  a  thousand  other  things  better  than  you 
can  yourself.  He  is  the  factotum  of  your  wife,  the 
wonder  and  delight  of  your  children,  and  your  very  ex 
cellent  friend  and  companion  ;  and  I  have  often  thought 
that  it  would  have  been  a  happy  fate  had  I,  a  childless, 
and  possibly  a  childish  man,  been  in  his  place  from 
middle  age  until  now. 

It  would  have  just  suited  me.  I  would  have  loved 
much,  and  done  much,  and  given  no  trouble.  The 
prices  of  meat,  corn,  and  sugar  should  never  have 
troubled  me  for  myself.  A  few  yards  of  cottonade,  and 
a  few  yards  of  domestic,  which  my  cousin,  sister,  or 
niece  would  have  made  up  for  me  into  coats,  pants, 
drawers,  and  shirts,  should  have  sufficed  me  for  every 
day  clothes,  and  with  but  little  labor,  I  could  have  made 
enough  to  keep  me  always  with  a  nice  Sunday  suit  and 
resplendent  boots.  I  could  have  knitted  my  own  socks 
in  my  leisure,  and  made  my  own  pegged  shoes,  platted 
my  own  hats,  spun  my  own  thread,  and  made  my  own 
buttons.  Always  busy  at  just  what  I  most  liked  to  do, 
and  always  loving  and  performing  loving  offices,  loved 
and  having  loving  hands  and  hearts  ministering  to 
my  comfort,  I  should  have  been  a  happy  man. 

It  is  no  doubt  best  as  it  is.  My  sister  Bel  died  and 
left  one  daughter,  who  married  before  her  father  left  the 
world,  so  that  I  had  no  opportunity  to  have  her  with 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  281 

me;  and  I  was  not  exactly  in  a  position  to  live  with 
her  and  her  husband,  who  would  have  taken  me,  arid 
all  that  I  had,  with  a  "thankye,"  as  the  negroes  say, 
and  wished  then  to  dispose  of  me  as  Mrs.  Mario w 
wished  to  settle  poor  little  Jenny.  I  have  never  had 
the  chance  to  be  dear  old  Uncle  Abe,  or  Cousin  Abe. 
My  niece's  only  child,  my  present  grand-niece,  has  ideas 
which  cannot  tolerate  old  and  old-fashioned  uncles, 
and  affections  which  are  rather  attracted  by  a  man's 
title  and  what  he  possesses  than  by  what  he  is. 

It  is  somewhat  out  of  place,  but  as  I  may  not  have 
occasion  to  refer  to  that  young  lady  again,  I  will  say  a 
word  or  two  about  her  here.  It  is  painful  to  an  old 
man  to  feel  a  dislike  to  his  only  surviving  near  relative, 
and  even  more  painful  to  have  to  give  his  reasons  for 
it;  but  as  she  expects  to  inherit  my  property,  though, 
thank  Heaven,  she  has  not  inherited  my  name,  I  must 
state  why  she  shall  be  disappointed. 

In  the  first  place,  her  name  is  Sally  Ann — Sally  Ann 
Perkins — and  a  more  disagreeable  compound  of  names 
could  not  be  invented.  The  "  Perkins"  is  well  enough 
by  itself;  that  is  to  say,  though  it  means  "  Little  Peter," 
some  folk  like  it,  and  some  very  good  persons  bear  it; 
but  with  the  Sally  Ann,  it  does  not  suit  my  ear.  Miss 
Sally  Ann  Perkins,  I  understand,  likes  my  name  quite 
as  little  as  I  do  hers — so  we  are  quits  on  that  score. 

If  any  one  think  I  am  foolish  in  this  prejudice,  per 
haps  he  is  right.  I  am  old,  and  old  men  generally  have 
weak  fancies.  But  how  would  he  be  affected  by  the 
name  of  Aminidab  Green  or  Habakuk  Winslow,  borne 
by  a  new  acquaintance?  There  are  associations  at 
tached  to  the  sounds  of  different  names  and  their  col- 
24* 


282  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

locations,  and  if  the  name  of  his  new  acquaintance 
would  excite  his  organ  of  caution,  I  may  be  excused 
if  another  name  excite  disagreeable  sensations  in  me. 
Why  does  the  sound  of  the  rustling  of  paper  make 
some  horses  almost  frantic  with  fright? 

But  in  the  second  place,  Miss  Sally  Ann  Perkins  is 
a  snob. 

There  is  no  more  expressive  word  in  our  language 
than  snob  ;  and  no  feeling  more  common  to  the  Amer 
ican  people  than  snobbery.  It  does  not  mean  the  mere 
desire  for  something  better  than  we  have;  for  that 
leads  to  improvement,  and  is  laudable ;  but  it  means  a 
mixture  of  abjectness  and  vanity,  which  meanly  esteems 
something,  of  no  importance  in  itself,  as  far  above  us, 
and  if  not  to  be  obtained,  at  least  to  be  aped.  It  leads 
poor  people  to  dress  and  display  far  above  their  means, 
and  leads  rich  people  to  assume  aristocratic  airs,  and 
to  think,  oh,  how  near  heaven  they  should  be  if  they 
were  only  hereditary  lords  and  ladies — strangely  for 
getting  what  they  really  should  be  if  titles  and  trades 
were  hereditary.  It  leads  young  men  who  have  been 
to  France  a  few  days  to  forget  English,  and  become 
gastronomes  to  an  alarming  degree.  They  will  speak 
to  you  with  horror  of  the  style  barbare  of  the  cuisine 
de  ce  pays  ci  (and,  by-the-by,  they  are  more  than  half 
right,  only  they  ought  to  take  their  view  from  a  different 
stand-point — as  is  never  said  but  by  theologians)  and 
discriminate  between  Pomai'd  and  Lafitte,  groan  at 
Port,  and  kiss  the  points  of  their  fingers  in  ecstacy  in 
describing  the  flavor  of  some  French  dish,  as  though 
you  were  not  also  tired  of  corn  bread  and  hash,  though 
you  had  never  been  to  France. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  283 

If  a  man  set  out  to  be  original  in  his  extravagances, 
he  is  at  once  called  crazy,  though,  perhaps,  he  only  de 
serves  to  be  called  ignorant  and  foolish ;  for  genius,  in 
its  most  ecstatic  frenzy,  could  not  invent  any  fashion 
whatever,  which  has  not  already  been  tried  by  one  or 
both  sex.  But  generally,  in  this  world  (except  by  the 
envious  who  have  the  same  feeling  of  inferiority,  yet 
cannot  possibly  get  up  the  imitation),  persons  are 
called  neither  crazy,  ignorant,  nor  foolish,  who  only 
imitate  the  example  of  those  they  esteem  their  betters ; 
for  all  the  rest  of  us  are  hard  at  work,  and  emulating 
each  other  in  our  copying. 

Have  you  not  sometimes  suddenly  discovered  a 
smirk  or  other  affected  look  on  the  countenance  of 
some  damsel,  and  wondered  where  she  could  have  got 
it  ?  She  was  trying  to  imitate  Miss  Araminta,  the 
unapproachable,  who  has  herself  copied  just  such  a 
smirk  from  Lady  Faddleday,  of  whom  she  caught  a 
glimpse  in  New  York  last  summer,  who  imitated  it 
from  the  Duchess  of  Gadshill,  who  learned  it  from 
etc.  etc.  etc. 

Mrs.  X.  dresses  her  daughters  just  like  those  of  Mrs. 
A.,  who,  in  point  of  means  also,  is  at  the  other  end  of 
the  alphabet;  and  young  Hoggins  quits  his  old  asso 
ciates  in  pleasure  and  work  to  run  with  Sniffkins  and 
his  crowd  of  nice  young  men,  to  dress  like  them,  talk 
like  them,  act  like  them ;  and  Barkis,  the  shoemaker's 
boy,  dresses,  talks,  and  acts  like  them  as  nearly  as  is 
consistent  with  sole-leather;  while  the  yellow  boy 
around  the  corner  regards  them  from  across  the  great 
gulf  as  so  many  little  angels  in  Abraham's  bos6m,  or 
playing  around  him. 


284  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

Let  every  one  examine  himself  or  herself,  and  see  if 
there  be  not  some  one  or  more  things  in  which  he  or 
she  feels  abject,  and  if  there  be  not  some  other  person 
whom  they  esteem  far  above  them  in  point  of  style  or 
social  standing,  and  whom  it  is  the  most  desirable 
thing  in  life  to  imitate.  Don't  you  find  yourself  slyly 
boasting  of  your  acquaintance  or  intimacy  with  those 
who  you  know  are  greatly  honored  or  admired — on  the 
principle  that  though  not  the  rose  you've  been  with  the 
rose.  (  Well,  all  that  is  snobbery,  and  is  mean.  It  is 
inconsistent  with  the  dignity  of  character  that  becomes 
a  man  or  woman,  and  leads  besides  to  discontent,  con 
fusion,  dishonesty,  and  toadyism. 

Have  you  not  known  many  a  man  who  made  an 
other  man  his  model  and  authority,  because  he  was  to 
him  the  source  of  earthly  good,  and  quoted  his  opin 
ion  as  definitive  on  all  occasions  great  and  small  ?  who 
both  lived  and  swore  by  him,  and  seemed  to  think  he 
would  go  to  him  when  he  died  ?  Have  you  not  seen 
in  him  the  gradual  change  from  distant  awe  to  familiar 
ity,  and  at  last  to  contempt,  as  the  scales  changed  and 
he  went  up  and  his  former  patron  came  down  ? 

That  was  all  mean,  very  mean ;  and  it  was  the  legit 
imate  result  of  snobbery.  -He  who  is  little-minded 
enough  to  be  abject,  will  be  little-minded  enough  to  be 
vain,  proud,  and  ungrateful.  Give  me  the  man  who, 
while  he  strives  in  this  world  for  the  best  things,  values 
what  he  has  at  present,  and  envies  no  man  station  or 
goods.  :  I  had  rather  think  I  was  the  handsomest  man, 
and  had  the  best  house,  and  the  best  horse,  and  the  best 
dog,  and  the  best  land,  arid  the  best  position  in  all  the 
world,  and  value  them  at  a  thousand  times  their  price, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  285 

than  to  esteem  another  desirably  better  looking  or  bet 
ter  off, — though  I  were  very  ugly,  and  my  house  leaked, 
my  dog  were  mangy,  my  horse  were  lame,  my  land  should 
not  sprout  cow-peas,  and  my  position  were  that  of  a 
piny-woods  basket-maker.  You  may  depend  upon  its 
being  the  happiest  and  most  dignified  philosophy  of  life, 
however  humble  the  life  may  be. 

My  niece  is  not  a  disciple  of  this  happy  and  dignified 
philosophy.  She  is  a  snob.  She  laughs  at  the  mem 
ory  of  my  father  and  mother  as  a  plodding  old  couple 
who  should  have  been  vastly  more  worthy  of  her,  Sally 
Ann  Perkins,  had  they  been  the  first  among  the  Eng 
lish  nobility;  while  I  can  tell  her  that  they  were  of  a 
nobility  superior  to  that  derived  from  human  authority, 
and  that  the  most  of  the  small  drop  of  gentle  blood  she 
has  in  her  veins  is  derived  from  them.  She,  Miss  Sally 
Ann,  thinks  that  her  little  noddle  would  vastly  become 
a  coronet  or  crown,  while  I,  her  great-uncle,  am  re 
minded  in  that  respect  of  what  Sancho  Panza  said 
about  his  wife:  "I  am  verily  persuaded  that  if  God 
were  to  rain  down  kingdoms  upon  the  earth,  none  of 
them  would  sit  well  upon  the  head  of  Maria  Gutierrez ; 
for  you  must  know,  sir,  she  is  not  worth  two  farthings 
for  a  queen." 

I  do  not  deny  that  she  is  a  pretty  girl,  although  her 
nose  is  sharp,  her  lips  thin,  and  she  looks  older  than 
she  really  is.  She  dresses,  too,  with  taste ;  and  though 
her  bonnet  is  of  the  smallest,  and  her  hoop  of  the 
largest,  and  her  laces  and  silks  of  the  finest,  somehow 
or  other  she  looks  vastly  genteel,  driving  about  in  her 
brette,  and  glancing  with  contemptuous  indifference 
upon  the  world  and  its  vanities — as  one  would  suppose 


236  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

she  esteemed  other  people's  attempts  at  elegance.  But 
how  does  she  treat  her  two  little,  Perkins,  orphan  cou 
sins  ?  and  how  does  she  treat  their  old  aunt,  with  whom 
she  and  they  live?  Do  I  not  know  that  in  her  presence 
they  hardly  dare  call  their  souls  their  own  ?  I  have  had 
experience  with  the  young  woman.  She  is  not  loud 
and  unlady-like,  but  she  is  as  silent  and  effective  as  a 
blister-plaster.  One  neither  sees  nor  can  touch  the 
quality  which  hurts,  but  has  to  cry  out  for  the  pain, 
nevertheless. 

Commend  me  to  your  silent  scolds  for  malignant  in 
sults  and  running  man,  woman,  and  child  desperate. 
How  they  manage  it  I  cannot  understand.  Try  to  ex 
plain  to  one  of  them  how  she  has  insulted  you,  and  you 
find  yourself  confused  and  ridiculous  before  her  calm, 
innocent  face,  and  perhaps  doubly  insulted  by  the  very 
look  and  manner  by  which  she  shows  her  innocence. 
When  I  look  at  the  beauty  and  serenity  of  Miss  Sally 
Ann,  and  try  to  precise  (that  word  is  from  the  French 
verb  preciser,  and,  like  approfound,  should  be  adopted 
in  the  English,  as  we  have  no  single  word  its  equiva 
lent), — when  I  look  at  her,  I  say,  and  try  to  precise  how 
she  used,  while  she  lived  at  my  house,  to  insult  me 
grossly  and  run  me  almost  wild,  and  then  humiliate  me 
for  .being  provoked,  I  sometimes  almost  think  I  have 
a  waking  nightmare.  But  the  fact  was  real,  though 
intangible,  and  I  do  hope  she  will  marry  a  loyal  duke. 
Finding  that  wealth  and  the  highest  title  he  aspires  to 
do  not  secure  happiness,  he  may  perhaps  turn  his 
thoughts  toward  heaven.  I  am  sure  that  is  the  only 
way  in  which  my  grand-niece  will  ever  make  a  man 
try  to  secure  the  comforts  of  religion  here  on  earth, 
and  a  final  entrance  to  that  blest  abode. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  287 

What  I  have  here  said  will  explain  to  my  executor, 
and  to  Miss  Sally  Ann,  if  she  wish  to  know  it,  why  I 
have  not  left  my  property  to  her — my  natural  heir. 
If  these  memoirs  should  ever  be  published,  I  trust  that 
the  discretion  of  my  executor  will  lead  him  to  omit 
this  personal  digression,  or  so  to  alter  it  in  names  and 
details  as  that  it  shall  be  understood  only  by  the  young 
lady  herself. 

[NOTE  BY  THE  EXECUTOR. — Miss  Perkins,  now  the 
Widow  Lecompte,  married  in  1863  (after  this  was 
written)  a  stray  music-teacher,  exiled,  as  he  said,  in 
1848,  from  his  estates  in  France.  Though  not  a 
Christian,  he  died  a  triumphant  death  in  two  years 
after  marriage.  Her  property  consisted  chiefly  in 
slaves,  and  has  been,  in  every  sense,  rendered  value 
less  by  the  event  of  the  war.  Having  been  fully 
advised  by  me  of  this  part  of  the  memoirs  of  my  re 
spected  friend  (I  sent  her,  indeed,  an  authenticated 
copy),  she  refuses  that  it  shall  be  omitted  in  publica 
tion.  She  has  commenced  a  suit  to  break  Mr.  Page's 
will  on  account  of  insanity  and  undue  prejudice,  and 
says  that  this  shall  serve  as  evidence  in  her  cause. 
She  denies  that  she  ever  treated  her  great-uncle  with 
aught  but  the  most  perfect  tenderness,  and  affirms  that 
he  was  so  insanely  prejudiced  against  her  that  even 
her  gentle  manner  of  humoring  his  old-fashioned 
whims  used  to  put  him  in  a  rage,  which  her  quiet 
efforts  to  soothe  only  augmented.  In  an  interview 
with  Miss  Boiling,  the  lovely  residuary  legatee  of  Mr. 
Page,  I  have  it  on  the  best  authority  that  her  intense 
calmness  and  simple  words  and  gestures  were  so  pro 
voking,  that  the  younger  lady  was  at  first  indignant, 


288  WE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

and  then  so  dissolved  in  tears  of  contrition  (though 
what  she  had  to  be  contrite  for,  unless  it  be  that  her 
own  beauty  and  goodness  made  an  old  man  love  her, 
is  more  than  she  herself  can  see),  that  she  wished  to 
give  up  the  estate  at  once  to  Mrs.  Lecompte.  She 
sent,  wrote,  and  even — when  I  was  last  at  Yatton — 
came  to  me  herself  to  have  it  done;  but  as,  by  the 
terms  of  the  will,  that  could  not  be,  the  suit  is  bound 
to  progress.  This  will  all  be  clear  to  the  reader  who 
has  read  the  preface.] 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

I  FIND  that  I  have  digressed  greatly,  in  point  of 
time,  from  the  thread  of  my  story.  And  yet  I  do 
not  know  but  that  by  abandoning  my  design  of  nar 
rating  my  life  in  the  order  of  its  events,  and  telling  it 
as  it  occurs  to  my  memory,  I  shall  not  be  more  natural, 
and  therefore  more  engage  the  reader.  I  find,  in  fact, 
that  after  a  certain  period  life  began  to  fly  so  fast  with 
me  that  the  consecutive  order  of  its  events  has  become 
confused,  and  which  is  first  of  any  two  that  occurred 
about  the  same  period  I  cannot  remember  at  all,  or 
only  with  great  difficulty  by  faint  associations.  For  in 
stance  :  Judge  Dawson  and  Colonel  Harper  applied  to 
me  to  become  a  candidate  for  Congress;  and  Miss 
Sophia  Walker  and  I  had  a  strategic  attack  and  de 
fense,  she  being  the  attacking  party.  Both  events 
happened  about  the  same  period  of  my  life,  and  I  recol- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  289 

lect  that  my  brother,  Dr.  Eldrod  Page,  was  then  living 
with  me,  but  which  of  the  two  came  first  I  cannot  re 
call — nor  does  it  make  the  slightest  difference  either  to 
me  or  to  the  reader,  for  they  were  not  at  all  connected. 

But  before  I  speak  of  either,  it  is  due  to  my  own  af 
fection  to  say  something  about  my  brother  Eldred. 

He  was  six  years  younger  than  I  was,  and,  I  always 
thought,  a  great  improvement  upon  me  in  every  way. 
He  was  of  larger  stature,  finer  mind,  and  more  unself 
ish  soul  than,  I,  besides  being  greatly  handsomer.  I 
can  make  this  confession  without  the  slightest  reserve, 
for  to  acknowledge  the  superior  traits  of  one  I  love  has 
always  given  me  delight.  Nor  have  my  swans  been 
geese,  either ;  for  mere  friendship,  however  intense  and 
holy,  never  blinds  a  sensible  man,  as  love  does,  to  de 
fects,  however  trivial.  When  I  was  married  he  had 
just  begun  the  study  of  medicine  under  our  father,  and 
was  becoming  greatly  interested  in  bones  and  muscles, 
nerves,  veins,  and  arteries,  tissues  and  organs.  His 
fancy  inclined  that  way ;  and  that  alone  was  equivalent 
to  talent ;  but  he  had  talent  too,  and  energy.  Our 
father  said  he  was  naturally  a  doctor;  and  I  verily 
believe  it,  for,  added  to  his  commanding  presence  and 
his  taste,  talent,  and  energy,  he  had  a  heart  as  sympa 
thetic  as  ever  beat  in  human  bosom. 

When  he  had  sufficiently  advanced,  he  went  on  to 
Philadelphia,  where  he  graduated  in  1819,  at  the  Uni 
versity.  Upon  his  return  home  he  commenced  the 
practice  of  his  profession  as  the  assistant  to  our  father, 
to  whom  it  was  becoming  too  laborious,  and  succeeded 
even  among  those  who  had  known  him  all  his  life. 

usually  dread  commencing  in  their  professions 
25  T 


290  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

where  they  were  raised,  but,  unless  they  expect  to  suc 
ceed  as  charlatans,  I  am  convinced  that  they  are  wrong. 
Real  merit  will  succeed  anywhere,  and  success  is  fixed 
upon  the  most  profound  basis  where  it  has  home  pride, 
the  vanity  of  locality,  to  support  it.") 

After  the  marriage  of  Bel,  and  the  series  of  family 
calamities  I  have  heretofore  mentioned,  brother  Eldred 
continued  to  live  at  home  with  our  mother,  who,  dear 
lady,  constituted  herself  his  housekeeper,  and  devoted 
herself  to  him.  No  young  physician  could  have  a 
better  adviser  than  she,  especially  in  those  cases  in 
which  the  experience  and  observation  of  an  intelligent 
mother  and  wife  are  more  peculiarly  exercised,  and  he 
used  often  to  say  to  me :  Brother,  our  little  mother  is  a 
better  doctor  than  the  whole  College  of  Surgeons. 

Ah,  who  knew  her  excellencies  better  than  I  ?  In 
all  times  of  sickness  and  trouble  she  was  the  minister 
ing  spirit  who  came  with  relief.  At  the  birth  of  my 
son,  and  at  his  death  and  the  death  of  my  wife,  she  was 
the  person  I  most  looked  to  for  help,  and  when  she  her 
self  was  taken  away,  about  ten  years  after  my  father's 
death,  I  felt  that  the  last  of  the  strong  ties  of  affection 
which  bound  me  to  earth  was  severed.  True,  I  had 
my  brother  and  my  sister  Bel — but  the  latter  was 
married,  and  had  a  husband  to  depend  upon  and  love, 
and  the  former  was  a  great  strong  man  who  did  not 
need  my  assistance. 

After  our  mother's  death,  both  Bel  and  I  considered 
the  old  place  as  Eldred's.  We  each  had  a  pleasant 
home,  and  we  hoped  he  would  marry  and  make  it  his 
home.  Until  he  should  do  so  1  persuaded  him  to  rent 
it  out  to  a  careful  tenant,  and  to  come  and  live  with 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  291 

me ;  and  as  ray  place  was  but  little  farther  from  town, 
where  he  had  his  office,  he  found  it  would  not  interfere 
with  his  business  to  do  so. 

He  was  no  misogynist,  and  I  never  knew  him  to 
have  any  love  scrape,  or  serious  disappointment  in 
love ;  therefore  I  could  never  account  for  his  indisposi 
tion  to  marry.  I  am  inclined  to  think,  however,  that 
though  my  sorrows  and  the  fate  of  Marlow  may  have 
had  some  influence  upon  him,  Miss  Sophia  Walker  had 
a  chief  part  in  deterring  him  ; — not  that  he  was  a  man 
to  form  general  rules  from  one  or  two  particular  in 
stances,  but  the  continued  recurrence  of  obstacles  will 
turn  aside  any  man  not  fully  bent  upon  an  object. 

Miss  Sophia  Walker  was  no  longer  in  her  first  and 
freshest  youth,  nor  was  I,  by  any  means,  a  young  wid 
ower,  when  she  manifested  a  design  to  change  her  name 
from  Walker  to  Page  at  my  expense.  It  was  rather 
strange,  to  a  casual  observer,  that  she  had  never  yet 
married,  for  she  was  still  quite  good  looking,  and  in 
her  youth  must  have  been  pretty.  She  had  a  fresh 
complexion,  light  blue  eyes,  flaxen  hair  with  a  dove- 
colored  tinge,  and  a  high-bridged  nose ;  her  lips  were 
red,  and  the  upper  one  beautifully  arched.  She  was 
rather  bony  about  the  chest,  but  had  a  pretty  foot  and 
a  handsome  arm.  Her  fingers  were  long  and  bony,  and 
the  right  thumb  and  index  finger  were  well  roughened 
by  pricks  of  her  needle.  Her  appearance  was,  in  fine, 
that  of  one  of  those  who  are  marked  out  by  inexorable 
fate  never  to  marry,  do  what  they  will.  Every  man 
has,  no  doubt,  in  his  life  remarked  several  of  the  class, 
and,  though  their  appearance  may  have  varied  in  its 
details,  he  has  always  been  impressed  with  an  undefin- 
able  similarity  between  them. 


292  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

As  a  general  rule,  they  are  excellent  women,  these 
predestined  old  maids ;  are  thoroughly  contented  with 
their  lot,  devote  themselves  to  the  good  of  their  nieces 
and  nephews,  uncles  and  aunts,  brothers  and  sisters ; 
or,  perhaps,  if  they  have  no  such  relatives,  teach  schools 
for  little  children ;  they  are  assiduous  in  their  devotions, 
but  more  assiduous  in  their  works  of  charity.  I  do 
love  such  an  old  maid  as  that,  whether  she  be  ugly  or 
good  looking,  pleasant  or  brusque  in  her  manners. 
When  the  great  day  of  account  shall  come,  she  shall  find 
laid  up  for  her  in  heaven  infinitely  more  than  the  love 
others  may  think  she  lacked  here  on  earth.  But  some 
times  these  old  maids  are  never  contented  with  their 
lot,  and  never  cease  trying  to  change  it  while  there  is 
any  possibility  of  hope.  Miss  Sophia  was  one  of  that 
kind.  She  always  tried  as  genteelly  as  possible,  it  is 
true,  but  she  tried,  and  I  was  one  of  her  subjects  for 
experiment. 

I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  since  I  commenced  to 
write  about  her,  it  has  been  with  difficulty  that  I  have 
kept  my  pen  from  writing  French.  My  episode  with 
her  is  just  one  of  those  subjects  a  spiritual  Frenchman 
could  best  write  about  if  he  knew  the  facts — and  there 
were  any  such  old  maids  as  Miss  Walker  in  France. 
I  am  convinced,  however,  that  though  human  nature  is 
human  nature  all  the  world  over,  it  takes  parsons,  and 
sewing  societies,  churches,  and  missionary  socities,  and 
Sunday  schools,  and  such  like,  to  develop  the  peculiar 
traits  of  the  Misses  Walker. 

What  subject  Miss  Sophia  abandoned  as  hopeless,  to 
take  me  up,  I  do  not  know.  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  her  spirit  was  idly  but  incessantly  searching  the 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  293 

kingdom  of  nature  to  find  her  mate,  when  she  espied 
me  and  thought  she  had  discovered  his  peculiar  marks. 

She  was  a  worshiper,  I  will  not  say  of,  but  with  Mr. 
Surplice,  sang  in  his  choir,  and  was  one  of  his  most 
faithful  and  active  non-commissioned  officers — a  sort  of 
female  lance-corporal,  to  be  put  in  function  whenever 
the  necessities  of  the  case  demanded  it.  To  her  Mr. 
Surplice  was  holy,  and  the  church  edifice  was  holy,  the 
prayer  books  and  Spiritual  Harmonists  were  sacred, 
and  the  tin  sconces  in  the  choir  were  consecrated ;  every 
object  in,  or  about,  or  connected  with  the  church,  had 
about  it  some  spiritual  quality  which  was  to  her  very 
imposing — nor  do  I  hold  her  up  to  ridicule  for  it.  The 
minds  of  a  vast  number  of  very  good  people  are  so  con 
stituted  that  superstition  is  a  necessary  ingredient  of 
religion,  and  without  it  there  is  little  of  active  interest 
in  Bible  truths.  That  a  plasterer,  engaged  in  repairing 
its  ceiling,  should  whistle  while  at  work  in  a  conse 
crated  ehurch,  strikes  them  as  horribly  profane.  That 
a  preacher,  though  he  has  flesh  and  blood,  passions  and 
appetites  like  other  men,  should  be  held  to  be  mere 
man,  seems  to  them  to  be  a  sort  of  sacrilege.  However 
great  a  fool  he  may  be,  however  complete  a  scoundrel, 
he  is  to  be  respected,  outside  of  his  folly  or  wickedness, 
as  a  holy  man  of  God. 

Ah,  how  much  of  this  spirit  has  invaded  the  world, 
in  and  out  of  the  Church  !  and  what  a  tremendous  in 
jury  it  has  done  to  true  religion  !  When  an  insignifi 
cant  little  creature,  such,  for  instance,  as  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Jabbers,  shows  his  folly  or  hypocrisy,  it  hurts  the  cause 
of  Christianity  in  his  circle  as  though  James  the  Less 
had  been  foolish  or  recreant;  and  if  a  bishop  sin  it  is  as 
25* 


294  MFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

though  Paul  or  John  had  fallen  from  his  high  estate. 
And  so  long  as  there  exist  a  hierarchy,  or  rather  a. 
vast  number  of  hierarchies,  each  of  them  pretending 
to  represent  Christ's  spiritual  kingdom  on  earth,  and 
each  assuming  for  its  clerical  caste  a  spiritual  unction 
which  makes  them  holy  and  separate,  and  raises  them 
above  other  men,  it  must  be  so.  What  they  assume, 
they  will,  and  must  be  held  to.  The  character  they 
pretend  to  represent  they  must  support  with  all  its  con 
sequences,  and  it  is  utterly  useless  to  tell  the  world  that 
they  are  men  on  the  street,  and  superior  to  men  in  the 
pulpit  or  confessional;  that  they  can  at  once  represent 
Peter,  and  Simon  of  Samaria,  whom  he  reproved. 

The  Misses  Sophia  Walker  believe  all  this  and  much 
more,  and  one  of  the  very  best  evidences,  to  my  mind, 
of  the  divine  truth  of  the  fundamental  doctrine  of  Chris 
tianity,  is  the  fact  that  it  has  for  so  many  ages  existed 
and  spread  in  its  intrinsic  purity  in  spite  of  the  egre 
gious  errors  with  which  it  has  been  burdened ;  and  I 
thank  God  for  the  Roman  Church,  and  the  Greek 
Church,  and  all  the  churches ;  for  having  preserved  by 
their  means,  even  though  almost  hid  by  canonicals  and 
ritualisms — the  sacred  truth  of  Christ  and  him  cruci 
fied,  burning  with  a  pure  and  steady  flame,  like  a  taper 
in  a  huge  and  gloomy  vault  beneath  a  massy  cathedral. 

What  I  have  here  said  about  church  matters  is  no 
digression,  for  it  was  my  heterodoxy  upon  this  subject 
which  seems  first  to  have  attracted  Miss  Sophia  to  me, 
and  excited  a  tender  interest  for  me  in  her  gentle  bosom. 
The  result  to  her  affections,  and  the  process  by  which 
it  was  reached  need  not  be  detailed,  for  since  the  world 
began  it  has  been  known  and  felt  of  all  men  and  women. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  295 

That  she  was  earnest  for  my  conversion  to  her  faith, 
and,  consequently,  to  the  true  and  essential  faith,  I 
could  not  doubt,  and  though  it  was  a  bore  (I  am  very 
ungallant,  but  I  wish  to  be  understood),  if  her  atten 
tions  and  pretensions  had  gone  no  further  I  could  have 
endured  it  with  philosophy ;  but  it  frets  me  to  this  day, 
on  her  account,  not  mine,  when  I  think  of  the  ridicu 
lous  position  in  which  the  good  woman  placed  herself. 
The  slippers  she  made  me  I  received  with  thanks;  her 
solicitation  to  hem  my  handkerchiefs  I  avoided  by  pur 
chasing  them  already  hemmed — but  when  I  found  she 
was  in  treaty  with  my  washerwoman  for  a  pattern  of 
my  shirts,  so  as  to  make  me  a  dozen,  I  felt  indignant, 
and  ordered  that,  under  pain  of  my  highest  displeasure, 
no  pattern  or  even  size  should  be  given  her. 

Having  described  Miss  Sophia's  appearance,  dispo 
sition,  belief,  and  design,  it  is  hardly  necessary  for  me 
to  enter  into  a  detail  of  her  actions,  and  talk,  even 
though  I  could  remember  them.  Most  writers  tell  what 
a  person  says  and  does,  and  leave  each  reader  to  gather 
the  particulars  of  disposition,  appearance,  and  ruling 
ideas  according  to  his  or  her  astuteness  and  knowledge 
of  human  nature.  My  plan  is,  I  think  the  best,  as  it 
is  the  most  precise,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most 
courteous  to  the  reader.  The  exact  appearance,  ideas, 
and  disposition  of  a  character  being  given,  the  reader  is 
left  in  no  doubt,  and  is  able  freely  and  pleasantly  to 
exercise  an  experienced  imagination  upon  what  the 
character  shall  say,  or  do,  in  any  conceivable  case ;  and 
I  feel  sure  that  an  intelligent  reader  is  just  as  well  pre 
pared  now,  as  he  would  be  if  a  whole  volume  of  events 
and  conversations  were  written  on  the  subject,  to  hear 


296  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

my  brother  Eldred's  exclamation  to  me  one  day: 
"  Brother,  if  you  don't  take  care,  and  go  away,  that 
woman  will  marry  you  in  spite  of  yourself." 

I  took  his  warning,  and  did  go  away.  I  first  went 

to  M ,  where  I  remained  about  two  months  in 

attendance  on  the  Supreme  Court.  Thence  I  went  to 
Charleston,  and  Richmond,  and  Baltimore.  From 
there  I  took  a  trip  by  way  of  Havana  to  New  Orleans, 
that  most  strange  and  delightful  of  all  American  cities 
for  a  gentleman  bachelor  who  knows  how  to  live  and 
enjoy  himself;  )and  to  Mississippi  to  see  an  old  school 
mate.  When  I  returned  I  found  Miss  Sophia's  efforts 
manifestly  enfeebled.  They  soon  ceased,  and  with  them 
almost  ceased  our  acquaintance.  At  any  rate,  its  gush 
ing  character  was  changed,  and  I  found  myself,  to  my 
great  satisfaction,  given  over  to  hardness  of  heart. 

Like  Job,  in  all  this  I  sinned  not  with  my  lips.  My 
conduct  toward  Miss  Sophia  was  always  that  which  a 
gentleman's  should  be.  I  never  spoke  disrespectfully 
about  her,  and  if  I  did  not  always  talk  to  her  sensibly, 
but  sometimes  answered  according  to  her  folly,  I,  at 
least,  always  spoke  politely.  And  it  is  a  great  satis 
faction  to  me  to  reflect  that  in  all  my  dealings  with  the 
fair  sex — even  with  Mrs.  Marlow,  yea,  and  even  with 
my  great-niece,  I  have  been  able  to  restrain  my  tongue, 
though  it  has  sometimes  terribly  vexed  my  soul  to  do  so. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  297 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

appeal  made  to  me  by  Judge  Dawson  and 
-•-  Colonel  Harper  took  me  by  surprise  for  several 
reasons.  It  will  not  do  for  one  of  my  age  and  position, 
who  has  spent  much  time  and  thought  in  honestly  ex 
amining  his  heart  and  its  motives,  to  pretend  to  any 
false  modesty  upon  such  an  occasion.  I  by  no  means 
considered  the  place,  or  any  place,  as  too  high  for  me, 
as  far  as  the  honor  was  concerned,  though  I  was  but 
a  country  lawyer.  What  surprised  me  was  the  spirit 
manifested  by  the  two  political  gentlemen,  and  the  crude 
views  they  took  of  government. 

One  afternoon,  about  sundown,  these  gentlemen  rode 
up  to  my  house.  Though  never  very  intimate  with  me, 
they  were  old  acquaintances,  and  when  they  dismounted, 
they  brought  in  their  saddle-bags,  as  though  it  was  their 
intention  to  stay  all  night.  I  had  their  horses  taken  to 
the  stable,  and  we  seated  ourselves  upon  the  front  gal 
lery,  and  conversed  about  the  weather  and  crops  until 
supper  was  announced.  After  supper  my  brother  left 
us  to  visit  one  of  his  patients,  and  pretty  soon  the  con 
versation  was  brought  about  to  politics.  I  noticed, 
from  the  drift  of  the  talk  and  their  mutual  glances,  that 
they  had  some  proposition  or  other  news  to  announce 
to  me,  but  pretended  to  be  unconscious  of  it  until  Judge 
Dawson,  as  spokesman,  flatly  requested  me  to  run  for 
Congress. 

"When,  judge  ?"  asked  I,  in  a  jocular  mood. 


298  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

"This  fall,"  answered  he. 

"  Where,  judge  ?"  said  I. 

"Why,  in  this  district  of  course,  Mr.  Page!"  an 
swered  the  judge,  as  though  surprised  at  my  question. 

"  But  this  is  a  Whig  district,  sir,  and  has  always 
been  Federal,  Republican,  Whig,  or  whatever  else  it  may 
be  called,  and  I  am  a  Democrat !"  said  I. 

"True,  Mr.  Page,"  answered  the  judge,  "but  you 
are  aware  that  at  the  last  election  the  race  was  much 
closer  than  ever  before,  and  we  all  think  that  with  a 
really  popular  candidate,  we  may  carry  the  district  this 
fall;  and  we  have  settled  upon  you  as  the  gentleman 
who  will  command  the  greatest  personal  influence  in 
aid  of  our  party.  You  have  never  aroused  opposition 
as  a  politician,  and  your  high  talents  and  known  integ 
rity  give  you  a  commanding  position." 

"The  majority  against  us  at  the  last  election,"  said 
I,  "was  two  thousand  four  hundred  and  seven.  Do 
you  think,  judge,  that  my  personal  influence  could  over 
come  that?" 

"Perhaps  it  might,"  he  answered,  "for  there  is  al 
ready  a  great  change  taking  place  in  political  senti 
ment.  But  even  if  it  were  not  overcome  at  this  election, 
the  strong  run  you  would  make  would  discourage  the 
opposite  party,  who  have  heretofore  had  it  all  their 
own  way,  and  at  the  succeeding  election  you  could  eer- 
tainly  run  in." 

"That  is,"  said  I,  "if  I  should  then  be  alive,  and 
disposed  to  run,  and  there  were  no  other  more  availa 
ble  candidate  to  supplant  me." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  said  the  judge  hastily,  "you  need 
not  fear  that  any  one  could  supplant  you.  Common 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  299 

courtesy  and  gratitude,  even  if  you  had  no  higher 
claims,  would  secure  you  the  nomination." 

"Granted,"  said  I.  "But  let  us  look  at  the  case  as  it 
stands  at  present.  To  make  even  a  fair  race,  I  shall 
have  to  abandon  my  business,  and  traverse  this  large 
district  making  speeches  for  two  months  to  come.  To 
do  this  will  put  me  to  a  considerable  expense,  besides 
what  I  shall  necessarily  lose  by  neglecting  my  busi 
ness  at  home  and  in  my  profession.  Besides  that,  it 
will  throw  me  into  collision  with  the  opposite  candi 
date,  who  has  heretofore  been  one  of  my  warmest  per 
sonal  friends.  And  all  this  for  the  almost  certainty 
of  defeat.  I  fear,  judge,  that  I  shall  have  to  decline  the 
honor." 

"But  the  party,  Mr.  Page!"  said  Colonel  Harper, 
speaking  up  hastily. 

"Excuse  me,  colonel?"  interposed  Judge  Dawson. 
"I  think  I  know  what  you  wish  to  say,  and  as  we 
agreed  that  I  shall  do  the  talking,  allow  me  to  finish. 
Colonel  Harper  and  I,  Mr.  Page,  have  talked  over  this 
matter  earnestly,  and  with  a  view,  believe  me,  to  your 
interest.  We  think  that  in  this  case  it  matters  very 
little  with  you  if  you  be  elected  or  defeated.  To  run 
will  bring  you  prominently  before  the  people,  and  place 
in  your  reach  any  office  within  their  gift  you  may  de 
sire.  But,  apart  from  that,  it  gives  you  a  claim  upon 
the  Administration.  It  will  not  be  out  of  place  for  me 
to  say  that,  two  or  three  days  before  I  left  Washing 
ton  City,  your  name  was  suggested  in  the  highest 
quarters  for  the  position  of  U.  S.  Attorney  for  this 
district,  and  you  would  have  received  the  appointment 
if  Colonel  D.,  who  is  in  the  Cabinet,  had  not  objected 


300  LIFE  ANI>    OPINIONS  OF 

that,  as  the  term  of  the  Administration  was  so  near 
out,  you  would  not  like  to  receive  a  place  in  which  you 
might  be  superseded  in  five  or  six  months.  I  thought 
it  was  interfering  with  your  political  prospects,  but  as 
he  was  known  to  be  your  personal  friend,  though  not 
from  this  State,  his  objection  was  allowed  to  prevail, 
and  the  appointment  was  given  to  Mr.  Miller." 

Now,  I  had  confidence  enough  in  the  friendship  of 
Colonel  D.  to  feel  sure  that  if  that  or  any  other  ap 
pointment  would  really  be  acceptable  and  beneficial  to 
me,  he  would  not  oppose  it,  and  I  thoroughly  under 
stood  Judge  Dawson,  who,  though  of  the  same  party, 
was  not  on  the  best  terms  with  Colonel  D.  who  over 
shadowed  him  even  here  in  his  own  State.  The  judge 
would  not  detach  me  from  Colonel  D.  as  a  party  man, 
but  would  put  in  a  little  private  stroke  at  my  personal 
friendship.  However,  I  suffered  him  to  proceed,  and 
he  said  : 

"We  hope,  Mr.  Page,  that  you  recognize  the  claims 
of  your  party." 

"Certainly  I  do,  judge, — as  I  understand  them,"  I 
added.  "I  believe  it  to  be  a  man's  duty  to  his  country 
to  give  an  earnest  support  to  that  party  the  principles 
of  which  he  thinks  will  best  preserve  and  promote  its 
interests.  I  regard  it  as  a  duty  to  the  country,  and  the 
country  alone ;  and  so  far  I  recognize  party  claims.  But 
you  will  pardon  me,  gentlemen,  if  I  say  that  though, 
in  my  opinion,  the  Democratic  party,  with  its  funda 
mental  principle  of  a  strict  construction  to  the  Consti 
tution,  is  the  only  party  which  offers  any  hope  of  safety, 
I  do  not  believe  that  with  the  fundamental  error  on 
which  this  government  is  based,  any  party  can  save  it 
from  speedy  destruction." 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  3Q1 

"Fundamental  error  in  the  government!"  exclaimed 
the  judge;  and  the  colonel  looked  equally  horror-struck. 
"I  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Page.  To  what  do  you 
refer?  I  thought  our  government,  theoretically  and 
practically,  the  most  perfect  monument  of  human  wis 
dom  ever  erected." 

"Certainly,  judge,"  I  replied,  "it  is  a  very  perfect 
structure,  and  I  cannot  imagine  one  more  stable  and 
excellent,  if  it  were  only  transferred  from  earth  to 
heaven,  or  some  other  abode  free  of  sin  and  folly.  But 
as  it  is,  it,  in  my  opinion,  is  built  upon  sand.  To  be 
plain  with  you,  gentlemen,  I  do  not  believe  in  universal 
suffrage,  or  in  the  stability  of  any  government  founded 
upon  it." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Page,  that  is  worse  than  Federalism  I" 
said  the  judge. 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  said  I.  "  It  has  nothing  in  common 
with  Federalism,  which  I  detest  and  fear  as  much  as 
you  do.  Universal  suffrage  will  lead  to  Federalism, 
and  will  thereby  destroy  us.  If  you  will  allow  me  to 
give  the  reasons  for  my  belief  you  will  perhaps  say 
that  they  are  plausible,  if  not  convincing.  The  idea  is 
old,  and  I  do  not  pretend  that  my  course  of  reasoning 
is  original ;  but  where  I  picked  it  up,  I  do  not  know, 
and  yet  that  it  has  not  been  wholly  worked  out  by  my 
own  observation,  I  do  not  know,  for  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  have  always,  and  naturally,  thought  as  I  now 
do  on  the  subject. 

"The  first  great  principle  of  human  nature,  over 
powering  justice  and  truth  and  honor,  goodness  and 
mercy,  is  selfishness.  While  it  is  the  source  of  all  en 
ergy,  and  private  and  public  enterprise,  it  is  also  the 
2G 


302  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

prime  cause  of  all  the  oppression,  confusion,  and  decay 
of  government,  whatever  be  the  form  of  government. 
The  laborer  tries  to  do  as  little  work  for  as  much 
money  as  possible,  and  the  capitalist  tries  to  give  as 
little  money  for  as  much  labor  as  possible.  If  you 
place  men  in  power  they  will  naturally  try  to  benefit 
themselves  by  it  regardless  of  the  rights  and  feelings  of 
others.  The  poor  and  ignorant  being  greatly  in  the 
majority  will  legislate  themselves  rich  and  into  high 
position  as  far  as  possible,  and  as  that  can  only  be  done 
by  reducing  the  wealth  and  rank  of  those  above  them, 
you  will  have  Agrarianism,  Communism,  Red-Repub 
licanism,  and  all  the  anarchy  which  must  come,  as  it 
always  has  come  from  the  cry  of '  Liberty  and  Equality !' 

"I  am  no  Coriolanus,  gentlemen,  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  those  who  have  dreamed  these  noble  day-dreams 
of  universal  liberty  and  equality  in  political  power, 
have  not  taken  a  sufficiently  low  estimate  of  human 
nature.  Like  all  other  day-dreamers  in  morals,  they 
have  not  been  practical.  They  have  generally  been  edu 
cated  philanthropists,  and,  actuated  by  their  own  noble 
and  benevolent  impulses,  they  have  imagined  a  govern 
ment  of  gentlemen  and  saints,  whereas  it  should  rather 
have  had  as  its  object  the  governing  of  ignorant  ple 
beians  and  low  sinners." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Colonel  Harper,  "that  our 
government  has  worked  very  smoothly,  so  far." 

"Do  you  call  Mr.  Clay's  Compromise  measure  an 
evidence  of  smooth  working?"  said  I.  "Besides,  no 
portion  of  this  country  is  yet  in  a  condition  to  experience 
fairly  the  evils  I  have  suggested.  The  population, 
even  in  the  North,  is  yet  sparse,  and  is  too  busy  sub- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  3Q3 

duing  nature  to  be  a  Mobocracy;  while  here  in  the 
South  the  government  is  really  an  Aristocracy.  The 
numerous  class  with  us  which  represents  labor  has  no 
political  power.  But  look  ahead  at  the  time  when  the 
North  and  West  shall  teem  with  population,  and  con 
sequently  with  active  energetic  selfishness;  and  imagine 
too  what  shall  be  our  own  position  if  slavery  should 
be  abolished,  and  our  conservative  Aristocracy  should 
become  a  passionate  Mobocracy. 

"Besides,  gentlemen,  if  the  principle  of  universal 
suffrage,  which  is  founded  upon  the  idea  that  all  affected 
by  the  government  should  have  a  voice  in  it,  be  a  cor 
rect  principle,  I  do  not  see  by  what  right  the  suffrage 
is  limited  to  males  over  the  age  of  twenty-one  years. 
Women  and  children  have  as  many  rights  as  men  have, 
and  very  frequently  have  quite  as  much  property. 
Idiots  and  lunatics  have  as  many  rights  as  sane  men ; 
the  black  and  red  as  many  as  the  white.  There  is  no 
natural  limit  to  the  principle ;  if  it  be  carried  to  its  ex 
treme  it  is  destructive ;  therefore  it  is  false. 

"  The  object  of  government  is  order,  which  includes 
the  full  protection  in  the  enjoyment  of  every  personal 
right;  and  the  best  government  is  that  which  governs 
most  strictly.  The  only  natural  government  is  the 
patriarchal  rule,  the  very  strictest  man  can  invent 
All  other  systems  are  purely  conventional,  and  although 
it  may  be  plausibly  said  that  in  their  formation  every 
man  to  be  governed  has  a  natural  right  to  a  voice,  the 
assertion  is  not  true  in  point  of  fact  or  practice.  Those 
only  have  the  natural  right  to  govern  who  can  best  ac 
complish  the  ends  of  government." 

"But,  Mr.  Page,"  said  the  judge,  "you  lose  sight  of 


304  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

the  Constitution.  That  is  the  supreme  law  which  gov 
erns  this  country." 

"Indeed  I  do  not  lose  sight  of  it,  sir,"  said  I.  "My 
whole  argument  is  to  show,  that  however  perfect  our 
Constitution  may  be,  it  is  a  mere  experiment  founded 
on  an  error:  that  it  is  a  written  instrument  which  has 
binding  force  just  so  long  as  it  suits  the  selfish  ends  of 
a  majority  of  the  people — and  not  a  moment  longer. 
The  question  of  the  abolition  of  slavery  has  been  lately 
started.  Suppose  the  whole  country  were  split  into  two 
great  parties,  and  the  Abolitionists  were  the  stronger, 
do  you  suppose  that  the  Constitution  would  stand 
as  a  permanent  barrier?  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  that 
the  pillar  of  fire  by  night,  and  of  cloud  by  day  could 
not  check  the  selfish  folly  of  the  Israelites ;  and  there 
is  just  as  much  human  nature  in  the  American  people 
as  was  ever  in  the  Jews.  We  may  differ  from  them  in 
personal  appearance,  but  not  one  whit  in  nature.  If  it 
ever  suit  the  views  of  a  large  factious  majority  to  dis 
regard  or  change  the  Constitution,  you  shall  see  that 
it  is  mere  waste  paper." 

"What  is  to  become  of  us  then,  Mr.  Page?"  asked 
the  colonel.  "What  security  can  we  have?" 

"None  at  all,  sir,"  I  answered.  "There  is  no  such 
thing  as  security  or  stability  in  government.  So  long  as 
you  can  succeed  in  preserving  the  Constitution  as  a  holy 
instrument,  to  be  regarded  with  superstitious  respect, 
to  be  touched,  as\was  the  ark  of  the  covenant,  only  by 
consecrated  hands,  and  by  even  them  only  in  accordance 
with  express  command,  so  long  we  shall  be  safe.  But 
as  that  is  impossible  where  every  man  in  the  country 
has  an  equal  right  to  have  his  voice  about  it,  to  decide 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  305 

upon  it,  to  treat  it  with  contempt  or  as  a  hinderance,  we 
never  can  be  safe,  for  the  reasons  I  have  given." 

"You    then,   Mr.  Page,   are    not   a  republican   at 
heart!"  said  the  judge. 

"As  for  that,  sir,"  said  I.  "Let  me  ask  you  if  you 
ever  saw  a  gentleman  who  was?  I  am  an  aristocrat, 
or  a  monarchist,  or  an  anything  else  which  is  opposed 
to  universal  suffrage ;  and  am  so  wholly  upon  prin 
ciple,  for  I  neither  wish  to  rule  others  myself,  nor  to 
be  ruled  by  others.  But  for  the  existence  of  slavery, 
which  makes  our  society  and  government  in  the  South 
an  aristocracy,  and,  therefore,  conservative,  I  would 
not  remain  in  this  country  one  moment  longer  than 
was  necessary  to  prepare  and  leave  it.  So  long  as  that 
state  of  things  exists,  or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  so 
long  as  the  Constitution  is  strictly  construed,  and  the 
rights  of  the  States  are  held  sacred,  we  of  the  South 
are  secure  enough  from  actual  injury.  But  with  only 
a  portion  of  the  States  thus  conservative,  and  the  power 
against  them  growing  rapidly  every  day,  it  is  impos 
sible  that  such  a  condition  should  continue  to  exist. 
The  selfishness  of  which  I  have  been  speaking  will  tri 
umph  in  the  end  over  the  Constitution,  and  then  we 
shall  have  either  civil  or  sectional  war. 

"Have  you  ever  reflected,  gentlemen,  upon  the  fact 
that  the  glorious  people  do  not  know  the  true  meaning 
and  importance  of  what  they  speak  of  so  glibly,  States 
Rights?  Their  preservation  is  the  only  chance  for  the 
preservation  of  the  Constitution  ;  for  without  them,  and 
with  universal  suffrage,  the  people  is  a  great  mob." 

"But,  Mr.  Page,"  said  the   judge,  "granting  that 

selfishness  is  the  main-spring  of  human  actions " 

26*  u 


306  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

"  States  Rights  are  the  balance-wheel,"  interrupted  I. 

"Certainly,  sir,"  said  the  judge,  politely.  "But, 
granting  that  selfishness  is  the  main-spring,  will  it  not 
lead  our  people  to  preserve  rather  than  destroy  the 
Constitution,  which  is  so  essential  to  their  well-being?" 

"A  philanthropic  philosopher  may  imagine  such  a 
thing  in  his  closet,  sir,"  answered  I,  "and  I  have  no 
doubt  but  that  such  was  the  idea  of  the  framers  of  our 
government ;  but  to  suppose  that  passion  or  a  present 
benefit  will  be  forborne  for  a  future  good,  is  to  ascribe 
to  the  many-headed  the  wisdom  and  patience  of  the 
philosopher  who  imagines  it.  Besides,  sir,  what  ac 
count  shall  you  not  make,  in  this  matter,  of  party 
spirit,  with  its  enthusiasm,  its  devotion,  its  inclination 
to  carry  its  schemes  as  far  as  its  power  can  reach,  to 
disgrace  its  enemies  as  well  as  to  overthrow  them,  to 
take  continually  a  step  further,  and  a  step  further,  than 
where  it  first  designed  to  go  ?" 

"Ah,  but,  Mr.  Page,"  said  the  colonel,  "you  cannot 
suppose  that  party  spirit  can  move  a  majority  of  the 
people  to  destroy  the  government !" 

"  Can  I  not,  sir  ?"  I  answered.  "  I  will  agree  that  it 
cannot  lead  them  to  designedly  destroy  themselves — 
their  selfishness  will  prevent  it — but  it  will  lead  them  to 
their  destruction  by  placing  before  them  the  allure 
ments  of  a  false  good  to  be  accomplished.  Man's  self 
ishness  is  governed  by  two  potent  masters,  Hope  and 
Fear.  Place  the  good  before  him,  and,  however  illu 
sory  it  may  be,  he  stickles  at  nothing  to  reach  it.  Place 
before  him  the  fear,  and  he  becomes  cautious.  A  des 
pot,  who  makes  rigid  laws,  and  enforces  them  inexor 
ably,  will  keep  men  cautious  by  means  of  their  fears. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  3Q7 

Universal  suffrage,  with  all  the  possibilities  presented 
by  hope,  will  make  them  insolent  in  their  desires,  and 
as  fierce  and  ravenous  as  tigers  when  they  come  to 
power." 

Our  conversation  was  long,  and  although  I  am  aware 
that  what  I  have  recounted  of  it  sounds  very  much  as 
though  I  wished  to  read  a  lesson  to  the  honorable  gen 
tlemen,  I  hold  that  I  was  perfectly  excusable;  and 
when,  in  conclusion,  the  judge  was  trying  to  uphold 
the  excellence  and  harmlessness  of  party  spirit,  I  said: 

"  Why,  gentlemen,  no  one  can  charge  either  of  you 
with  designedly  doing  anything  not  consistent  with 
perfect  fairness,  and  yet  even  you  wish  me  to  abandon 
my  ease  and  my  prospects  for  fortune  in  order  to  take 
up  a  more  than  doubtful  contest  for  party — to  sacrifice 
me,  in  fact,  for  party — and  even  you,  for  party's  sake, 
would  condescend  to  flatter  me  into  it." 

When  I  said  this,  both  changed  color  a  little,  and 
seemed  disconcerted.  I  think  I  was  justly  offended, 
but  I  preserved  my  courtesy,  and  they  had  to  take  the 
lesson.  We  parted  the  next  morning  on  friendly  terms, 
and  I  never  heard  any  more  of  the  project  of  running 
me  for  Congress — for  which  mercy  I  am  very  thankful. 

Alas !  I  have  lived  to  see  my  prediction  verified,  and 
a  sectional  war  actually  begun.  God  help  us !  If  the 
South  should  fail,  and  its  conservative  influence  be  de 
stroyed,  the  whole  structure  of  the  government  must 
be  swept  away,  because  the  rights  of  the  States  shall 
be  overthrown  with  the  South.  And  when  Peace  shall 
again  smile  upon  the  land,  the  inhabitants  who  shall 
have  been  spared  shall  come  out  from  their  dens  and 
hiding-places  to  look  upon  the  ruins,  and  remove  the 


308  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

rubbish,  and  with  sad  and  discouraged  hearts  begin  to 
build  and  improve  again.  This  will  be  the  case  not  in 
the  South  alone,  though  it  may  happen  there  first ;  it 
must  be  so  in  the  North  also.  The  principle  of  the 
government  is  wrong,  and  without  the  check  of  States 
Rights,  can  only  entail  anarchy  until  it  is  put  down  by 
the  strong  hand  of  a  one-man  power  over  an  exhausted 
and  dispirited  remnant  of  the  whole,  or  the  feeble  rem 
nant  in  each  State ;  and  America  shall  be  an  Empire, 
or  a  congeries  of  Empires  more  or  less  despotic,  in 
stead  of  a  powerful  Confederacy  of  sovereign  nation 
alities. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

I  HAVE  said  that  my  brother,  the  doctor,  was  never, 
that  I  knew  of,  disappointed  in  love ;  but  I  do  not 
wish  it  to  be  understood  he  never  was  in  love.  On  the 
contrary,  he  had  the  family  failing  to  a  great  degree, 
and  his  affections  never  seemed  easy  unless  they  were 
occupied  with  some  fair  object.  His  popularity  with 
the  young  ladies  was  almost  wonderful,  for  although 
he  was  too  earnest  and  honest  to  pretend  admiration, 
or  to  be  fickle,  he  was  perfectly  self-contained  and  inde 
pendent  with  them,  and  could  laugh  with  them,  or  at 
them,  as  the  occasion  demanded. 

In  that  he  differed  from  me.  From  my  earliest  love- 
essay  until  now,  the  girl  or  woman  for  whom  I  have 
entertained  either  love,  or  a  very  particular  liking,  has 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  30 9 

had  mo  as  her  slave,  and  the  idea  of  offending  her  has 
distressed  me  beyond  measure.  I  find  myself  propi 
tiating  the  whims  of  my  little  pet,  Kate  Boiling,  as 
though  it  were  possible  I  could  yet  be  loved,  and  some 
times  the  thought  that  my  old-man's  babble  and  at 
tempts  at  gallantry  annoy  her,  gives  me  as  much  un 
easiness  as  though  I  were  her  young  lover.  If  she  has 
seemed  abstracted  and  thoughtful  during  one  of  my 
visits,  I  am  all  anxiety  to  visit  her  again,  and  see  if  I 
have  offended,  and  am  never  happy  till  I  can  see  hei 
smile,  and  show  a  merry,  affectionate  heart  again.  My 
reason  tells  me  that  in  this  matter  I  belong  to  the  class 
of  "  Old  Fools,"  and  yet  it  gives  me  a  great  pang  some 
times  to  think  that  she  too  may  appreciate  my  folly.  I 
dread  to  appear  ridiculous  to  one  I  love. 

When  my  son  was  born  there  were  three  things,  be 
sides  health  of  mind  and  body,  I  most  desired  for  him. 
The  first  was  that  he  should  have  a  hot  temper;  for 
I  knew  he  could  be  whipped  at  home  and  abroad 
into  governing  it ;  whereas,  if  he  did  not  have  it  nat 
urally,  he  could  never  acquire  it.  The  second  was, 
that  he  should  be  obstinate ;  for  I  knew  that  if  he  had 
good  sense  the  little  harm  his  obstinacy  might  some 
times  do  him  would  be  far  more  than  counterbalanced 
by  the  thousand  evils  from  which  it  would  preserve 
him.  The  third  was,  that  he  should  be  almost  totally 
void  of  the  love  of  approbation,  that  most  pitiable  weak 
ness  with  which  poor  man  can  be  afflicted.  It  makes  a 
man  amiable  to  others,  but  a  misery  to  himself.  It  ac 
companies  an  affectionate  heart,  but  so  governs  all  the 
acts  of  the  most  intelligent  man  as  to  oftentimes  make 
him  appear  to  have  a  weak  head.  For  the  approval  of 


310  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

others  he  does  what  his  good  sense  disapproves.  In 
fine,  his  whole  happiness  depends  upon  the  esteem  in 
which  others  hold  him,  and  he  becomes  an  instrument 
to  be  jangled  or  made  harmonious  by  every  passer-by. 
A  little  child  or  an  empty-headed  fool  can  inflict  upon 
him  the  most  acute  torments ;  by  a  look  may  cause  him 
more  pain  than  would  a  strong  man's  blow ;  by  a  word 
may  make  his  soul  shrink  within  him. 

This  love  of  approbation  I  have  borne  with  me  like 
a  shirt  of  Nessus ;  or,  rather,  like  a  cruel  sore  to  make 
me  wince  with  pain  for  every  pointed  finger.  My 
brother,  on  the  contrary,  although  he  had  enough  love 
of  approbation  to  make  him  willing  to  accommodate 
and  please,  rather  than  show  himself  selfish  and  surly, 
never  seemed  to  think  it  desirable  to  waive  one  whit  of 
his  manly  dignity,  or  accurate  sense  of  propriety. 
Therefore,  being  also  handsome,  he  was  popular  with 
the  ladies,  and  therefore  he  never  got  into  love  perplex 
ities  or  had  serious  disappointments  in  love.  He  was 
always  in  love,  however,  after  his  fashion  ;  and  one 
little  episode  presents  his  character  so  perfectly,  and 
also  shows  an  amiable  young  lady  in  a  situation  so  af 
fecting  that  I  must  relate  it.  But  as  the  story  may  be 
somewhat  long  I  will  give  it  a  chapter  to  itself. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

ABOUT  three  miles  above  The  Holt,  and  just  be 
yond  the  saw-mill  on  Brown's  Creek,  lived  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Allen,  with  his  wife  and  daughter. 
They  were  very  poor.  Allen,  a  slender,  weakly  man 
of  about  fifty-five  years  of  age,  always  cleanly  dressed, 
however  patched  and  coarse  his  clothes  might  be,  bore 
upon  his  countenance  the  impress  of  weak  good  nature, 
and  the  traces  of  former  good  looks.  In  his  youth  he 
was,  no  doubt,  a  very  handsome  man ;  and  indeed  he 
must  have  been  remarkably  handsome  and  amiable 
to  have  won  such  a  wife  as  he  had.  They  had  come 
from  Virginia  many  years  before  and  settled  in  the 
county,  and  their  relative  bearing  and  conversation 
were  enough  to  make  one  suspect  the  history  of  their 
marriage.  She  was  a  ladylike  woman,  of  good  educa 
tion,  he  was  totally  uneducated  and  had  evidently  led  a 
life  of  manual  labor.  She  had,  no  doubt,  married  him 
from  pure  love,  and  perhaps  much  against  the  wishes 
of  her  relatives.  This  was  indeed  the  case,  as  I  after 
wards  learned,  and  though  she  bore  it  with  unflinching 
patience  and  cheerfulness,  I  often  pitied  the  poor  woman 
for  the  hard  lot  she  had  chosen.  They  had  had  several 
children,  all  of  whom,  except  one  daughter,  had  died 
in  early  youth  by  the  diseases  incident  to  a  newly-set 
tled  country  acting  upon  delicate  constitutions.  The 
daughter  who  was  spared  them  was  a  healthy,  merry 
child  who,  when  I  first  began  to  notice  her,  was  about 


312  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

ten  years  old,  and  already  was  of  the  greatest  assistance 
to  her  mother.  The  little  thing  could  read  and  write 
quite  well,  was  a  most  industrious  little  sempstress, 
and  never  seemed  better  pleased  than  when  exerting 
herself  at  the  wash-tub  with  such  articles  as  she  could 
handle,  or  tripping  to  the  spring  with  bare  feet  and  head 
and  fetching,  with  many  a  resting  spell,  pails  of  water 
she  hardly  seemed  able  to  carry  at  all. 

Mrs.  Allen,  from  her  first  coming  to  the  country,  used 
to  attend  church  regularly  with  her  children  and  hus 
band,  and  soon,  by  her  intelligence  and  dignified  de 
meanor,  gained  the  acquaintance  and  good  will  of  the 
ladies  of  the  congregation  and  community.  We  all 
know  how  such  friendships  come  about — sometimes  the 
result  of  officious  good  nature ;  sometimes  the  effect  of 
genuine  charity.  At  any  rate,  Mrs.  Allen  soon  num 
bered  among  her  friends  my  mother,  and  Mrs.  Ruggles 
(who  in  spite  of  what  I  have  said  of  her  had  many 
generous  impulses,  and  was  a  devout  admirer  of  good 
manners),  and  all  the  other  ladies  of  position  about 
Yatton.  When  her  children,  one  by  one,  sickened  and 
died,  she  had  their  kindest  sympathy  and  attentions; 
and  when  little  Stephania  (I  do  not  know  why  she  re 
ceived  such  a  name)  was  born  a  healthy,  robust  child, 
they  rejoiced  with  her. 

When  Stephania  was  about  twelve  years  old,  by 
agreement  of  several  of  the  ladies,  who  would  share 
the  expense,  Mrs.  Holywell  invited  Mrs.  Allen  to  allow 
her  to  live  at  her  house  and  go  to  school  with  her 
children  during  the  week  at  the  Academy  in  Yatton. 
After  some  hesitation  the  offer  was  accepted  with  the 
proviso  that  the  child  should  return  home  every  Friday 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  313 

evening  to  remain  with  her  parents  until  the  following 
Monday  morning. 

The  Academy  was  a  first-rate  school,  and  Stephania 
was  one  of  its  best  pupils,  and  one  of  the  prettiest,  and  by 
means  of  unofficious  presents  from  this  and  that  person, 
always  one  of  the  most  neatly  and  becomingly  dressed; 
so  that  when  she  graduated  at  the  head  of  her  class,  just 
after  her  seventeenth  birthday,  there  was  a  no  more  ac 
complished  and  ladylike  girl  in  the  whole  county.  Her 
conduct  upon  her  return  home  was  so  different  from 
that  of  an  affected,  spoilt,  vain  girl,  that  she  secured 
the  admiration  of  the  whole  county.  She  tried  at  once 
to  relieve  her  mother  of  her  most  burdensome  duties, 
and  her  neat  handiwork  was  manifested  in  house, 
kitchen,  and  wash-shed.  Old  Mr.  Allen  seemed,  in 
her  company,  almost  in  heaven,  looking  at  and  hear 
ing  a  choir  of  angels ;  and  she  was  as  fond  of  him 
as  though  he  were  the  richest  and  most  learned  of  the 
land.  He  was  at  the  time,  and  indeed  was  to  his  end, 
occasionally  employed  at  the  saw-mill,  and  at  other 
times  in  plying  the  trade  of  a  basket-maker.  He  sup 
plied  the  whole  neighborhood  with  cotton-baskets  for  a 
number  of  years. 

In  the  fall  after  her  graduation,  Mrs.  Colonel  Stew 
art — her  husband  was  dead — projected  a  trip  to  the 
North,  and  perhaps  to  Europe,  to  be  gone  from  home 
two  or  three  years.  She  had  two  daughters — Emily, 
about  Stephania's  age,  and  Mary,  two  years  younger ; 
and  as  Stephania  was  a  favorite  with  them,  the  old 
lady  thought  it  would  be  a  great  convenience  in  every 
way  to  have  her  go  along  as  their  companion  and 
Mary's  preceptress.  It  was  a  fine  opportunity  for  the 

at 


314  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

young  girl,  whose  fancy  was  profoundly  moved  by  the 
prospect  of  travel ;  but  it  was  with  difficulty  she  could 
be  persuaded  to  leave  her  parents.  "Oh,  dear  ma," 
she  would  exclaim,  when  her  mother  would  urge  the 
acceptance  of  the  offer,  "what  will  you  and  dear  old 
popsy  do  without  your  little  daughter !  I  can't  bear 
to  be  traveling  about  as  a  grand  lady,  while  you  two 
are  living  here  so  poor  and  helpless  !" 

"Poor!"  exclaimed  old  Mr.  Allen,  on  one  occasion. 
"Why,  gal,  what  are  you  talkin'  about?  Me  and  your 
ma  aint  poor.  We're  rich!  Havin' such  a  sweet  da'ter 
as  you,  is  bein'  rich ;  but,  besides  that,  I  have  got  the 
finest  lot  of  white-oak  basket-timber  in  soak  I  ever  had 
yet,  and  more  orders  for  baskets  than  I  can  fill  in  a 
year ;  and  we  don't  owe  a  cent ;  and,  please  God,  if  I 
don't  have  the  rheumatiz  too  bad  this  winter,  I'll  make 
money  hand  over  fist !" 

Mrs.  Allen,  however,  answered  her  daughter  more 
convincingly.  "My  dear,"  said  she,  "it  is  your 
father's  duty  and  mine,  and  it  is  our  happiness,  to 
make  you  happy  and  useful.  Although  you  would 
be  a  great  assistance  to  me,  as  you  always  are,  dear 
daughter,  if  you  should  remain  at  home,  the  fact  that 
you  missed  the  great  advantages  offered  to  you,  only 
for  our  sake,  would  make  us  both  unhappy.  Why, 
daughter,  we  have  only  you  to  live  for;  and  the  hope 
of  seeing  you  comfortably  established  and  happy,  is 
all  the  earthly  hope  we  have  left.  It  is  your  duty  to 
do  what  you  can  to  that  end,  and  to  take  every  advant 
age  offered  to  you ;  for  by  doing  so  you  assist  us,  and 
add  to  our  comfort  more  than  you  could  by  remaining 
at  home  and  working.  We  shall  miss  you,  certainly 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  315 

we  shall  miss  you,"  continued  the  good  woman,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  but  a  loving  smile  on  her  lips;  "but 
it  will  not  be  for  long,  and  it  will  be  in  the  way  of 
duty.  You  ought  to  know  by  this  time,  my  love,  how 
pleasant  duty  can  make  very  disagreeable  things  some 
times  I" 

And  so  Stephania  was  overpersuaded — and  with  a 
sinking  heart,  and  after  many  a  warm  and  tearful  em 
brace  of  her  loved  ones,  she  got  into  J^Irs.  Stewart's 
carriage  one  afternoon  to  go  to  Grassland  (the  Stewart 
residence),  from  which  the  family  were  to  start,  the 
next  morning,  on  their  travels.  The  old  man,  with 
trembling  hands  and  humid  eyes,  kept  fumbling  at  the 
cords  which  held  the  modest  little  trunk  on  the  hind 
seat  of  the  carriage,  as  though  still  to  delay  the  part 
ing;  but  at  last  mustered  up  the  courage  to  slap  his 
hand  firmly  upon  the  lid,  and  say,  with  choking  voice : 
"All  right!  Drive  ahead!  Good-by,  my  dear!" 
"Stop!"  she  said  to  the  driver;  "one  more  kiss,  dear 
old  popsy!"  and  leaning  out  of  the  carriage  window, 
she  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  held  the  old 
man  close  in  her  nervous  embrace,  as  though  she  could 
never  consent  to  leave  him — and  then,  with  a  long 
farewell  kiss,  sank  back  in  the  carriage,  and  sobbed  as 
though  her  heart  would  break,  as  it  moved  off;  leaving 
the  old  man  standing,  with  the  tears  rolling  down  his 
cheeks,  whispering  to  himself,  as  though  she  were  still 
present,  "My  dear !  my  darling  child  !" 

When  it  became  about  time  to  hear  from  the  absent 
one,  who  was  to  write  from  Charleston,  and  then  from 
New  York,  the  old  man  presented  himself  regularly  at 
the  post-office  at  the  opening  of  the  mail,  which  came 


316  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

twice  a  week ;  and  his  restless  uneasiness  if  the  mail 
were  delayed,  and  his  humble  resignation  if  the  post 
master  said:  "No  letter  for  you,  Mr.  Allen!"  showed 
at  once  the  character  of  the  man,  and  the  intense  anx 
iety  he  felt. 

At  last  the  first  letter  came,  and  then  the  second, 
from  New  York,  then  a  third,  from  New  York — a  long, 
long  epistle ;  and  then  in  succession  letters  from  Bos 
ton,  and  Niagara,  and  from  this  and  that  town  at  the 
North ;  and  as  each  was  handed  to  him,  his  brown  and 
bony  hand  would  grasp  the  treasure,  and  with  eager 
step,  and  joy  and  pride  in  his  eyes  and  beariug,  he 
would  hurry  off  to  his  home  for  his  wife  to  read  it  to 
him.  They  were  long,  loving  epistles,  in  each  of  which 
the  writer  seemed  to  try  and  convey  to  her  loving 
readers  the  exact  scenes  she  saw  and  as  much  as  pos 
sible  of  the  wonder  and  delight  she  felt.  At  last  came 
one  which  announced  that  they  would,  the  next  day, 
take  the  swift-sailing  A  No.  1  copper-bottomed  and 
fastened  Liverpool  and  New  York  regular  packet,  the 
Sea  Queen,  A.  J.  Brown,  Master,  for  Liverpool;  and 
after  the  lapse  of  a  month  or  two  of  great  uneasiness 
came  another,  telling  of  a  pleasant  passage  and  safe 
arrival ;  and  then  others  from  London,  and  Paris,  and 
Vienna,  and  Florence,  and  here  and  there  in  Europe. 

Ah,  it  was  a  pleasant  sight  to  see  old  Mr.  Allen  at 
this  time,  and  hear  him  answer,  when  one  asked  him 
about  Miss  Stephania:  "My  da'ter  was  at  Vienna  on 
the  28th  of  June  last,  I  thank  you,  sir ;  and  expected 
to  leave  for  Munich  the  next  day.  She  was  enjoying 
herself  very  much,  and  her  health  was  good,  sir,  i 
thank  you!"  Even  Mrs.  Allen,  who  knew  far  better 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  31  f 

than  he  the  locality  of  Vienna  and  Paris,  and  appre 
ciated  far  more  than  he  what  her  daughter  was  see 
ing  and  enjoying, — even  she,  with  all  her  good  sense 
and  modesty,  seemed  to  be  rather  over-elated  with 
pride  and  awe,  when  she  would  recount  to  one  how 
Stephania  had  seen  the  King  of  France,  and  had  been 
in  the  Tuileries,  and  had  danced  at  a  State  ball, — to 
which  the  American  Minister  had  procured  her  party 
invitations, — and  then  how  "My  daughter  Stephania 
was  in  Rome  at  our  last  advices,  and  expected  to  go  to 
Naples  in  a  few  days,  and  thence  by  sea  to  Marseilles, 
in  the  south  of  France." 

And  then,  after  three  long  years,  the  news  arrived 
that  the  party  was  coming  home;  and  soon  they  did 
come,  and  Stephania — an  elegant  and  beautiful  young 
woman — took  her  place  as  naturally  at  home  as  though 
she  was  not  a  great  traveler,  whose  eyes  had  been 
blessed  with  the  sights  of  kings,  and  queens,  and  no 
bility,  palaces  and  castles,  famed  cities,  and  famous 
rivers  without  number. 

No  young  woman  was  ever  placed  in  a  more  trying 
situation  than  she,  and  not  one  ever  stood  the  trial 
more  nobly.  Work  had  prospered  with  the  old  man 
during  her  absence — perhaps  the  joy  and  pride  he  felt 
had  lent  effectiveness  to  his  work.  At  any  rate,  Mrs. 
Allen  was  able  to  hire  a  woman  to  do  the  heavier 
household  work,  and  many  neat  little  articles  had  been 
added  to  the  adornment  and  comfort  of  the  modest 
parlor — which  the  old  couple  seemed  to  design  as  the 
special  abode  of  their  angel. 

So  far  nothing  had  ever  been  said  about  any  beau 
for  Miss  Stephania,  and,  but  for  meaning  smiles  and 
27* 


318  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

bints  when  she  was  with  Mary  and  Emily  Stewart,  one 
would  have  supposed  that  she  had  not  seen  or  spoken 
to  a  single  young  man  during  her  travels.  But  one 
day  our  eyes  were  opened  to  the  whole  story.  A  fash 
ionably  dressed  young  man — a  Northerner — arrived,  in 

the  A stage-coach,  at  the  tavern,  where  he  put  on 

rather  jauntily  fashionable  airs  of  the  Northern  type. 
After  his  toilet,  from  which  he  came  forth  resplendent, 
he  inquired  of  the  landlord,  in  an  easy,  careless  way,  if 
there  was  not  a  family  by  the  name  of  Stewart  living  in 
the  neighborhood;  and  when  he  was  answered  yes,  he 
remarked  that  he  believed  an  old  gentleman  by  the 
name  of  Allen  had  a  place  near  them,  and  learned  to 
his  apparent  satisfaction  that  it  was  so;  and  thus  the 
matter  passed  off  that  afternoon. 

He  had  registered  his  name  as  Augustus  Hotchkiss, 
Salem,  Mass.;  and  much  was  the  wonder  why  Mr. 
Augustus  Hotchkiss,  who  was  evidently  neither  trav 
eling  merchant  nor  mechanic,  should  have  wandered 
away  from  Salem,  Massachusetts,  to  such  an  out-of- 
the-way  place  as  Yatton ;  and  if  any  of  our  merchants 
had  had  dealings  at  Salem,  they  would  have  suspected 
him  of  coming  on  a  tour  of  collection  or  espial.  It 
came  out  afterward  that  Mr.  Augustus  Hotchkiss  had 
met  the  Stewart  party  in  Liverpool,  and  sought  an  in 
troduction  to  them  from  persons  they  knew.  As  he 
was  a  young  man  of  pleasant  assurance  and  glib 
tongue,  and  was  well  connected,  he  was  soon  pro 
nounced  an  agreeable  acquaintance ;  and  it  was  with 
pleasure  that  the  party  learned  he  was  to  return  on  the 
Plying  Scud  with  them  from  Liverpool,  whither  he  had 
gone  with  a  consignment  of  his  father's  goods.  As 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  319 

the  Stewarts  were  rich,  and  Stephania  was  traveling 
with  them  as  their  equal  in  position, — as  she  was  their 
superior  in  information  and  beauty, — and  as  he  heard 
the  girls  speak  to  her  once  or  twice,  casually,  about  her 
father's  "Place,"  he  took  it  for  granted  old  Mr.  Allen 
was  one  of  those  wealthy  Southern  sheep  who  have 
always  been  sought  as  the  choicest  prey  for  Northern 
hunger ;  and  when  he  learned  that  Stephania  was  an 
only  child,  he  thought  the  gods  were  surely  on  his  side. 
He  had  but  little  opportunity  to  make  his  court  on  the 
passage,  which  was  unusually  rough,  and  kept  the 
ladies  most  of  the  time  in  their  cabins ;  but  he  went 
sufficiently  far  to  show  that  he  was  unmistakably  a 
suitor  for  Stephania,  and  upon  parting,  hinted  that  he 
thought  it  likely  he  would  soon  visit  the  South  as  his 

father  had  business  in  A ,  which  might  require  his 

presence.  So,  after  three  or  four  months,  here  he  was 
in  Yatton. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Augustus  Hotchkiss  hired 
the  landlord's  gig — for  he  said  he  was  not  much  ac 
customed  to  ride  strange  horses — and  with  the  hostler's 
boy  for  a  driver  and  guide,  made  his  way  to  Mr.  Al 
len's  place.  The  road  was  very  rough,  as  though  but 
little  used  for  wagons  or  carriages,  and  he  repeatedly 
asked  the  boy  Tom,  if  he  was  sure  he  was  in  the  right 
road. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Tom,  "I's  sartin  I's  gwine  right. 
They  aint  no  other  road  less'n  you  go  'round  by  Mr. 
Page's  an'  up  the  creek,  an'  dat's  a  mighty  long  road 
'round  1" 

Mr.  Hotchkiss  no  doubt  began  to  think  it  "very 
strange!  remarkably  strange!"  and  perhaps  mentally 


320  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

remarked  that  he  would  soon  have  a  better  road  there — 
but  when  the  gig  drew  up  at  the  double  log-cabin  situ 
ated  on  the  edge  of  a  little  clearing,  and  the  boy  told 
him:  "Thar  is  Mr.  Allen's,  and  yonder  is  ole  Miss 
Allen  in  the  passage,"  he  was  positively  indignant,  as 
he  suspected  that  the  negro  wished  to  play  a  practical 
joke  upon  him.  Without  showing  his  face  beyond  the 
gig-top,  he  questioned  the  boy  closely: 

"You  say  this  is  Mr.  Allen's  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  'tis!"  said  the  boy  emphatically. 

"  Is  this  the  only  place  Mr.  Allen  has?" 

"It's  the  only  place  I  knows  on,"  was  the  answer. 

"What  does  Mr.  Allen  do?" 

"Why,  sir,  he's  a  basket-maker,  sir,  an'  sometimes 
works  at  the  saw-mill,"  said  Tom. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Allen,  with  a  towel  over  her  head, 
had  come  out  of  the  house,  and  up  to  the  fence,  and 
asked  the  stranger  if  he  would  not  alight  and  come  in. 

"No,  I  thank  you,  madam,"  said  he.  "Does  Mr. 
Allen  live  here?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  she;  "won't  you  come  in?" 

"I  have  not  time  just  now,  madam,"  said  the  unfor 
tunate  swindler, — I  call  him  a  swindler  because  he 
proposed  to  gain  the  pure  and  rich  affections  of  a  girl's 
heart  in  return  for  such  a  miserable,  paltry  piece  of 
flesh  as  his  own, — "not  just  now,  madam.  Has  Mr. 
Allen  a  daughter  named  Stephania,  who  was  in  Europe 
with  the  Stewarts?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Mrs.  Allen,  "she  is  our  daugh 
ter.  She  will  be  at  home  presently.  Walk  into  the 
house." 

"  Excuse  me,  madam.     I  am  in  a  great  hurry,  as  I 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  321 

have  to  take  the  afternoon  coach.  I  thought  I  would 
call  by  a  moment  and  see  Miss  Stephania,  if  she  was 
at  home.  Good-by,  madam.  Turn  around,  boy,  and 
go  back !" 

"What  name  shall  I  say?"  said  Mrs.  Allen,  as  the 
boy  turned  the  gig,  but  Master  Augustus  pretended  not 
to  hear  her,  and  rode  back  to  town,  paid  his  bill,  and 
left  in  the  afternoon  coach  as  he  proposed. 

When  old  Mr.  Allen,  who  had  been  in  town  on  some 
business,  came  out  by  a  nearer  path  through  the  woods, 
he  began  to  joke  with  Stephania.  "  Oh,  ho,  Miss 
Stephy !  so  your  grand  beau  has  been  to  see  you ! 
They  told  me  at  the  tavern  that  Mr.  Augustus  Hoteh- 
kiss  had  come  to  stay  for  a  week  or  two  as  he  said,  and 
had  come  out  to  see  you.  What  have  you  done  with 
him,  Miss  Sly  Boots?  Eh?" 

That  told  Stephania  the  whole  story  as  well  as  though 
it  had  been  written  in  black  and  white. 

I  do  not  think  that  her  heart  had  been  touched  at 
all  by  Mr.  Hotchkiss's  charms,  for  she  was,  of  all  girls, 
difficult  in  her  requirements  of  what  one  to  love  should 
be,  and  his  manners  were  rather  too  much  of  the  mer 
cantile  order  to  attract  her  at  first  sight.  Indeed  I  do 
not  think  that  with  the  most  attentive  and  devoted 
wooing  she  ever  would  have  accepted  him,  though  he 
had  been  a  millionaire.  But  what  girl  can  regard 
without  some  emotion  the  intentions  of  her  first  lover; 
though  he  be  ever  so  little  to  her  taste,  so  long  as  he 
is  not  positively  offensive  ?  To  think  that  she  is  loved 
will  cause  a  flutter  in  every  true  heart;  and  she  will 
say  to  herself:  "I  at  least  owe  him  some  respect,  since 
he  loves  me !"  But  here  the  false  love  was  made  naked 

v 


322  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

at  once,  and  Stephania  found  that  the  respect  she  had 
felt  had  been  bestowed  on  the  meanest  of  objects. 

Of  course  I  do  not  know  what  was  in  her  heart.  I 
only  know  that  her  heart  was  pure  and  sensitive,  and 
that  all  of  her  ideas  were  elevated  and  refined.  Of  one 
thing  I  am  certain,  she  never  told  the  story  to  her 
parents,  or  breathed  it  even  to  her  friends,  Mary  and 
Emily; — who  did  not  see  her  until  they  had  heard  the 
whole  truth,  and  were  too  much  ladies  and  friends  to 
hint  of  it  to  her. 

Not  many  months  after  this,  Stephania  was  inducted 
as  Mistress  of  the  Rose  Hill  School,  about  a  half  mile 
from  her  father's  house,  higher  up  the  creek.  It  was 
a  neighborhood  school-house,  delightfully  situated  on  a 
high  spot,  a  short  distance  from  one  of  the  main  roads 
to  Yatton,  in  a  populous  district ;  and  she  commenced 
her  labors  with  twelve  scholars.  The  path  from  her 
father's  to  the  school- house  was  through  the  forest,  so 
that  she  was  but  little  exposed  to  the  sun,  or,  except  in 
very  wet  weather,  to  the  rain ;  but  one  of  the  neigh 
bors,  when  he  thought  of  the  distance  she  had  to  go  in 
all  weathers,  loaned  her  a  pony,  which  he  had  some 
difficulty  in  making  her  accept  (she  could  not  be  in 
duced  to  take  it  as  a  gift),  and  she  and  Sprightly — so 
was  the  pony  named — were  soon  the  best  friends  in  the 
world.  Her  school  gradually  increased  until  she  found 
her  hands  full  with  eighteen  scholars,  all  of  them  de 
voted  to  their  gentle  mistress ;  and  so  it  continued,  old 
scholars  leaving,  and  new  ones  coming,  for  about  three 
years — which  brings  her  to  her  twenty-fourth  year,  and 
me  to  the  point  of  my  story. 

In  the  fall,  I  recollect  the  season,  but  not  the  year, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  333 

a  neighbor  came  in  haste  one  day  for  brother  Eldred  to 
go  and  see  Mr.  Allen,  who  was  very  ill.  I  think  the 
old  man  was  taken  with  congestive  fever,  then  very 
common  in  the  country,  and  his  constitution  received 
so  great  a  shock,  that  he,  for  a  long  time,  was  confined 
to  his  bed.  Brother  Eldred's  visits  were  at  first  neces 
sarily  frequent,  but  I  noticed  that  even  after  he  had 
told  me  the  old  man  was  convalescent,  every  day  or 
two  would  find  his  horse  traveling  to  the  Allen  place. 
He  remarked  to  me  one  day  during  the  severity  of  the 
attack,  when  I  proposed  to  go  and  help  nurse  the  old 
man,  that  it  was  unnecessary  as  he  was  very  quiet,  and 
needed  little  attention,  and  was  annoyed  by  the  pres 
ence  of  strangers ;  and  when  I  asked  him  who  were 
the  nurses,  he  answered:  "Mrs.  Allen  and  Miss  Ste- 
phania;  and  I  tell  you,  brother,  Miss  Stephania  is  a 
noble  woman,  and  reminds  me  more  of  our  dear  little 
mother  than  any  woman  I  have  met  with  yet." 

This  was  the  highest  compliment  I  ever  heard  Eldred 
pay  to  any  one,  for  he  adored  our  dear  mother;  just  as 
he  reverenced  our  noble  and  wise  old  father.  It  used 
to  make  me  feel  very  proud,  when,  in  the  fullness  of  the 
dear  boy's  affection,  he  would  sometimes  tell  me  that  I 
resembled  our  father,  who,  I  still  think,  was  the  most 
magnificent  specimen  of  grand  manhood,  in  mind,  soul, 
and  body,  either  of  us  ever  saw.  Alas  !  my  resemblance 
to  him  existed  only  in  the  love  my  dear  brother  bore 
us  both. 

One  day,  at  the  close  of  the  winter,  when  Eldred 
came  into  the  house  after  his  morning  round  of  visits, 
I  noticed  that  he  looked  very  much  concerned,  and  he 
presently  said  to  me:  "Brother,  you  must  look  out 


324  LIFE  A*™   OPINIONS  OF 

another  school  for  your  pets"  (I  was  sending  a  couple 
of  orphans  to  the  Rose  Hill  School),  "for  I  have  ad 
vised  Miss  Stephania  to  give  up  her  school,  and  I  am 
very  much  afraid  it  is  even  now  too  late."  And  pres 
ently  he  added,  abruptly:  "I've  bought  Mr.  Allen's 
place." 

I  knew  Eldred  well  enough  to  know  that  at  a  proper 
time  he  would  explain  to  me  what  seemed  so  mysteri 
ous  ;  but  it  was  a  long  time  before  I  learned  the  full 
particulars  of  the  transaction. 

It  seems  that  when  Mr.  Allen  was  first  taken  sick, 
Eldred  had  remarked  that  Miss  Stephania  was  a  little 
troubled  with  a  cough,  but  she  had  so  many  excuses 
for  it — she  had  got  her  feet  wet ;  or,  she  had  sat  up 
near  the  open  window ;  or,  it  was  a  mere  nothing,  and 
would  soon  pass  off — that  his  suspicions  were  allayed 
for  a  time,  particularly  as  her  father's  case  was  so  pre 
carious  ;  but  the  cough  kept  getting  worse,  and  she 
lost  her  color,  and  he  then  began  remonstrating  with 
her,  and  advising  her  to  give  up  her  school — which  she 
steadily  refused  to  do.  Eldred  was  so  single-hearted 
himself,  that  be  needed  no  hint  to  enable  him  to  divine 
her  reasons.  Her  father  was  sick,  and  she  felt  the 
whole  duty  of  providing  for  the  family  to  be  on  her. 
Here  was  now  a  difficulty.  Had  he  been  able  to  follow 
his  own  desires,  he  would  have  gladly  supported  the 
whole  family,  and  even  have  moved  them  to  the  Vir 
ginia  Springs  if  necessary;  but  he  had  too  much  deli 
cacy  to  make  a  proposition  which  delicacy  could  not 
accept,  and  yet  would  be  sorely  wounded  to  decline. 
He  was  a  gentleman  pur  sang ;  and  I  feel  certain  that 
he  never  in  his  life  deliberately  and  unprovokedly  hurt 
the  feelings  of  man,  woman,  or  child. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  325 

At  last  he  solved  the  problem.  The  term  of  his 
tenant  at  the  old  home  place  was  about  to  expire,  and 
he  was  under  no  obligation  to  renew  it.  Mr.  Allen 
was  just  then  beginning  to  get  about  again,  and  Eldred 
finding  him  alone  on  the  gallery,  told  him  that  he  had 
been  looking  about  his  place,  and  found  that  it  was  a 
good  mill-site,  and  he  wished  to  purchase  it,  and  put 
up  a  mill  as  soon  as  he  conveniently  could. 

"  If  I  sell  you  my  place,  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Allen, 
"what  shall  I  do?  for  my  living  is  here,  as  well  as  my 
home." 

"As  far  as  your  living  is  concerned,"  answered  El 
dred,  "it  will  be  fully  six  months  before  you  are  able  to 
do  anything,  and,  in  the  mean  time,  your  daughter's 
health  is  suffering  severely  from  remaining  in  this  low 
spot.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Allen,  although  I  do 
not  wish  to  alarm  you,  your  daughter  must  give  up 
her  school  and  remove  from  here,  or  I  will  not  answer 
for  the  consequences.  My  house  near  town  will  be 
vacant  at  the  end  of  this  month,  and  I  very  much  need 
a  careful  tenant  for  it.  Sell  me  this  place,  and  move 
there.  You  will  do  me  a  great  favor  by  doing  so. 
Speak  to  your  wife  about  it,  but  say  nothing  to  Miss 
Stephania.  She  is  so  much  attached  to  her  school 
children  that  she  will  oppose  leaving  them." 

This  was  the  conversation,  in  short,  and  it  would  be 
useless  to  recount  all  the  difficulties  which  arose  and 
were  successively  combated  until  Eldred's  point  was 
carried,  and  the  first  of  the  next  month  found  the  Allen 
family  settled  as  his  tenants,  and  the  famous  mill-site 
bought  and  paid  for  at  a  generous  price.  By-the-by, 
as  I  now  own  it,  I  would  leave  it  to  my  grand-niece, 
28 


326  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

if  it  were  not  that  she  might  think  I  was  adding  insult 
to  injury. 

Stephania  was  too  intelligent  and  sympathetic  not 
to  appreciate  to  its  fullest  degree  my  brother's  plan  and 
kindness ;  but  she  was  ignorant  of  business,  as  indeed 
was  her  father,  and  had  no  idea  but  that  he  would 
make  some  profit  by  the  transaction,  though  she  knew 
he  had  not  been  moved  by  any  such  consideration.  The 
excitement  of  moving  and  the  change  seemed  to  benefit 
her,  but  the  improvement  was  only  temporary,  and 
she  soon  knew  and  began  to  realize  that  she  was  not 
long  for  this  world. 

Poor  girl  1  while  her  health  and  strength  had  lasted, 
she  had  had  little  joy  in  living,  but  now  that  both  were 
failing,  life  became  very  desirable.  She  saw  the  wealth 
of  love  in  a  strong  man's  noble  heart  ready  to  be  lav 
ished  on  her,  but  kept  in  check  by  prudence.  How 
women  know  such  things  intuitively  is  more  than  I  can 
understand,  but  they  do  know  them,  and  it  is  the  pure- 
hearted,  not  the  cunning  woman,  who  perceives  it  first. 
That  she  loved  him  I  have  no  doubt,  and  that  she  loved 
with  all  the  trustful  love  of  the  weak  toward  the 
strong,  and  the  tender  love  of  the  holy  and  generous 
for  the  pure  and  great-souled,  I  have  no  doubt;  and 
his  gentle  compassion  must  have  been  very  sweet  to 
her. 

It  was  a  hard  fate — a  very  hard  fate ;  but  the  Prov 
idence  who  had  allotted  the  fate  had  fitted  the  soul  to 
bear  it.  I  do  not  think  that  Eldred  knew  of  her  love 
as  I  did.  His  humility  blinded  him.  But  even  if  he 
had  known  it,  I  doubt  if  he  would  have  discouraged 
it,  for  he  would  have  felt  how  precious  it  was  to  her, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  327 

and  in  very  pity  would  have  spared  her  the  treasure. 
She  leaned  upon  his  arm  to  take  the  daily  walks  he 
prescribed  for  her,  and  gained  strength  of  soul ;  from 
his  hands  she  received  her  medicines,  and  with  them 
drank  healthy  draughts  of  love.  Day  by  day  she  faded, 
and  day  by  day  her  love  grew  more  heavenly,  until  at 
last  it  was  merged  in  the  bliss  of  the  saints,  and  her 
fair,  fragile  form  was  laid  in  the  earth. 

Many  a  rosy  cheek  was  paled,  and  many  beautiful 
eyes  were  dimmed  with  tears  around  the  grave  that 
day;  and  the  voice  of  the  preacher  carried  new  im 
pressions  to  the  minds  of  the  weeping  girls  when  he 
read:  "Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in  the  Lord 
from  henceforth :  yea,  saith  the  spirit,  that  they  may 
have  rest  from  their  labors;  and  their  works  do  follow 
them." 

Eldred  was  very  serious,  but  showed  no  emotion. 
Her  death  was  no  shock  to  him.  Whatever  might  have 
been  the  case  under  other  circumstances,  he  had  not 
felt  for  her  the  passion  of  love — only  a  warm  friend 
ship,  and  a  very  great  and  tender  compassion.  Her 
death  was  no  doubt  a  relief  to  him,  for  he  was  too  good 
a  man  even  to  think  of  what  he  might  desire  when  an 
other's  sufferings  were  before  him.  She  was  simply  the 
most  admirable  young  woman  he  had  ever  known,  and 
the  most  interesting  patient  he  had  ever  had,  and  when 
he  found  that  death  alone  could  bring  her  relief,  he 
welcomed  death  for  one  to  whom  it  had  no  sting. 

He  was  now  forty-three  years  old,  and  knew  that 
death  was  a  great  mercy.  "Why,  what  a  hell  the  earth 
would  be  but  for  death  !"  I  have  heard  him  say.  "  We 
often  praise  Q-od  for  in  his  wrath  remembering  mercy 


328  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

when  he  prescribed  labor  for  man,  and  forget,  in  its  re 
volting  outward  form,  that  death  is  the  most  precious 
boon  to  sinful,  woeful  man.  The  thousand  other  bless 
ings  of  life  are  but  as  flowers  scattered  along  the  path 
way  to  the  Palace  of  Rest.  When  a  child  dies,  what 
has  it  lost?  Nothing  but  a  knowledge  of  sin,  and 
pain,  and  sorrow;  for  shall  it  not  live  again  in  pure 
and  unfading  delights  ?  And  when  a  good  man  dies, 
what  has  he  not  gained !  The  corrosion  of  sin  could 
not  be  arrested  in  any  other  way,  and  he  rests  in  death, 
to  rise  in  incorruption  at  the  Last  Day.  Even  to  the 
wicked,  death  is  a  blessing,  for  without  it  this  life  would 
eventually  prove  a  hell  whose  torments  would  go  on 
ever  increasing.  Possibly  his  death  puts  an  end  to  the 
number  of  the  sins  which  are  to  be  his  torments  in 
eternity.  In  fact,  it  must  be  so.  The  future  state  is 
very  different  from  what  we  imagine  it  if  Mrs.  Mario w, 
for  instance,  is  there  to  have  another  little  Jenny  to  sin 
upon.  The  little  Jennies,  it  seems  to  me,  shall  all  be 
in  heaven.  But  even  admitting  that  it  is  not  so,  and 
that  the  wicked  go  on  committing  sins,  I  cannot  see 
in  what  hell  would  differ  to  them  from  earth  after  a 
lapse  of  a  few  thousand  years.  Even  on  earth  they 
often  in  a  lifetime  reach  the  point  of  despair,  which  is 
but  the  seal  of  hell." 

My  poor  dear  boy!  Only  two  years  after  this  he 
reached  the  period  for  his  rest  while  far  away  from  me. 
He  had  gone  to  Alabama  on  an  errand  of  mercy,  to 
reclaim,  if  possible,  for  a  poor  old  widow,  her  son  who 
had  there  got  into  difficulty ;  and  on  his  return,  unsuc 
cessful,  he  stopped  one  hot  June  evening  at  the  tavern 
in  Macon,  shivering  with  cold.  A  doctor  was  called  at 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  329 

once,  and  several  gentlemen  of  the  town,  brother 
Masons,  came  to  wait  upon  him ;  but  the  congestive 
chill  was  too  violent,  and  before  day  he  was  dead.  I 
hastened  there  as  soon  as  I  heard  of  it,  for  how  could 
I  stay  away,  even  though  I  were  assured  that  he  was 
dead  and  in  his  grave  !  Did  I  not  have  to  see  with  my 
own  eyes  the  room  in  which  he  died  ?  and  the  place 
where  they  laid  him?  and  gather  with  tender  care,  as 
precious  relics,  the  clothes  and  papers  he  had  left  ?  and 
give  my  personal  thanks,  mingled  with  envy,  to  those 
who  had  seen  Mm  last,  and  had  been  kind  to  him  ? 

They  told  me  that  while  they  were  seated  near  his 
bed  after  all  had  been  done  which  could  be  done,  he 
said  in  a  clear,  sweet  voice :  "Good  night,  gentlemen  1" 
and  turned  himself  wearily  on  his  side,  and  was  dead. 

Now  I  was  truly  alone  in  the  world.  Father  and 
mother,  wife  and  child,  brothers  and  sisters,  all  were 
gone  !  and  what  had  I  left  to  live  for  ?  From  that  day 
to  this  I  have  lived  for  death.  It  has  been  the  sweet 
term  and  fruition  I  have  had  appointed  for  my  desires. 
Blessed  be  God,  for  Death !  It  will  restore  me  to  my 
loved  ones,  and  I  have  the  firm  and  glorious  assurance 
that  not  one  of  them  shall  be  lacking  at  our  meeting. 

"  If  in  this  life  only  we  have  hope  in  Christ  we  are 
of  all  men  most  miserable,"  says  the  apostle.  "  But 
now  is  Christ  risen,  and  become  the  first  fruits  of  them 
that  slept.  For  since  by  man  came  death,  by  man 
came  also  the  resurrection  of  the  dead.  For  as  in 
Adam  all  die  even  so  in  Christ  shall  all  be  made  alive. 
But  every  man  in  his  own  order:  Christ  the  first  fruits: 
afterwards  they  that  are  Christ's  at  his  coming." 

Come  quickly,  Lord  Jesus  ! 
28* 


330  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

LET  it  not  be  thought  that  the  old  have  no  pleasures. 
I  am  sure  that  while  I  have  been  waiting  these 
many  years  since  brother  Eldred's  death,  I  have  enjoyed 
myself  far  more  than  most  of  the  young  who  have 
grown  up  and  died  around  me  while  in  the  feverish 
pursuit  of  pleasure.  My  health  has  been  perfect,  and 
although  I  am  feeble,  nature  lends  herself  with  all  her 
charms  to  beguile  my  way.  The  deep  shade  of  the 
trees  I  planted  as  saplings  under  my  Mary's  direction 
afford  me  refreshing  coolness  in  the  burning  heats  of 
summer.  The  skies,  whether  in  the  brassy  glare  of 
August,  or  with  their  deep  blue  flecked  with  April 
clouds ;  whether  darkened  by  tempest,  or  clothed  in 
the  fleecy  dun  of  winter,  are  always  beautiful  to  me ; 
for  they  show  the  wisdom,  power,  and  goodness  of  God, 
and  I  behold  in  my  imagination,  above  and  beyond 
them,  the  present  abode  of  my  blessed  ones.  The 
earth,  with  its  hills  and  trees  and  flowers,  its  babbling 
rills  and  its  grassy  slopes,  my  imagination  re-creates 
free  from  blemish,  and  from  death,  as  our  future  eternal 
abode.  Some  spot  like  this  I'll  have  in  the  suburbs  of 
the  Eternal  City,  and  thither  beneath  unfading  trees 
we'll  gather,  in  the  light  which  God  gives  us, to  help 
each  other  toward  perfection  in  all  our  faculties  of  mind 
and  soul;  and  there  shall  be  no  night  there.  Mary's 
sad  lullaby  to  her  child  shall  be  changed  to  sweeter, 
happier  strains  as  she  holds  him  in  her  arms;  my 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  331 

mother's  brow  shall  bear  no  brooding  thought  of  care 
as  she  looks  upon  her  loved  ones  around  her ;  Eldred 
and  our  father  shall  discourse  to  us  of  the  discoveries 
of  wisdom,  power,  and  love  they  shall  find  in  their 
studies  of  the  nature  and  works  of  God ;  and  I,  what 
ever  may  be  my  knowledge,  shall  be  a  loving  little 
child  in  heart  again.  Except  to  do  some  pleasing  task 
required  by  Heaven's  polity,  we'll  never  separate;  and 
then  the  separation  and  the  return  will  be  but  zest  to 
our  joy. 

All  this  is  not  merely  imaginative.  Though  there 
is  no  revelation  upon  the  subject  sufficiently  definite  to 
prevent  the  free  exercise  of  the  imagination,  yet  the  reve 
lation  is  sufficiently  precise  when  taken  with  known  facts, 
to  guide  the  imagination  with  some  degree  of  certainty. 

It  is  revealed  to  us  that  there  shall  be  a  resurrection 
of  our  bodies,  to  which  our  souls  shall  be  united,  and 
that  we  shall  thus  dwell  in  our  individuality  through 
out  eternity.  It  is  also  revealed  that  there  shall  be  a 
new  earth  upon  which  the  saved  shall  live  in  eternal 
happiness.  Now,  God  is  the  only  source  of  happiness, 
for  he  is  the  source  of  all  the  attributes  which  consti 
tute  or  add  to  happiness,  and  he  is  infinite  in  all  his 
attributes.  The  finite  can  never  become  the  infinite, 
though  it  increase  throughout  eternity. 

From  this  it  is  to  be  induced  that  the  blest  shall 
spend  their  eternity  in  becoming  more  perfectly  in  the 
image  of  God  in  which  they  were  created — that  they 
shall  become  more  perfect  in  being,  wisdom,  power, 
holiness,  justice,  goodness,  and  truth. 

To  be  very  plain,  it  is  but  a  fair  deduction  from  what 
is  revealed,  and  from  what  we  know  of  ourselves,  that 


332  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

we  shall  become  more  and  more  perfect  in  the  knowl 
edge  and  practice  of  the  laws  which  govern  human 
actions,  and  in  the  laws  of  harmony  and  melody,  of 
color  and  light,  and  of  all  the  other  laws  which  govern 
mechanics,  mathematics,  vegetable  life,  and  whatever 
else  the  attributes  of  man,  made  in  God's  image,  are 
fitted  for  learning. 

All  Christian  philosophers  are  willing  to  admit  that 
the  memory  shall  be  perfect  in  the  damned,  and  shall 
constitute  the  basis  of  the  torments  of  hell ;  and  they 
bring  up  evidences,  both  spiritual  and  material,  to 
prove  it.  For  my  part,  I  believe  them  without  trouble, 
and  say,  moreover,  that  in  the  future  state  of  blessed 
ness,  I  shall  no  doubt  be  able  to  whistle  perfectly — 
that  is,  if  whistling1  be  not  offensive  to  glorified  ears — 
every  tune  I  ever  heard  in  my  life  here.  Not  a  note 
shall  be  lacking  or  untrue.  And  if  any  man  have  no 
taste  for  music  here,  he  shall  acquire  it  there,  and 
during  eternity  become  a  first-rate  musician.  And  so 
with  every  other  natural  faculty  and  taste. 

It  is  not  at  all  philosophic  to  cry  out  upon  this  and 
call  it  absurd,  or  say  that  it  takes  from  the  awe  with 
which  we  should  regard  the  future  state.  Most  men 
never  permit  themselves  to  reflect  upon  the  nature  of 
that  state  at  all,  except  as  something  vague  and  dread 
ful  ;  that  is  just  the  word — Dreadful !  We  are  to  be 
happy,  they  all  admit,  but  the  happiness  is  to  be  alto 
gether  different  from  anything  mortal  beings  can  con 
ceive  of,  and  of  a  character  too  dreadful  to  think  about. 

Let  us  be  more  reasonable.  We  shall  be  men  still, 
though  glorified  men,  freed  from  sin  and  sorrow,  pain  and 
death.  Can  you  imagine  myriads  of  glorified  beings, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  333 

endowed  with  all  the  various  faculties  of  human  souls 
and  bodies,  spending  an  eternity  in  singing?  which  is 
not  the  best  way  to  glorify  God  even  here.  Or  shall 
they  spend  it  in  twiddling  their  thumbs  ?  or  in  floating 
about  hither  »and  thither  like  birds,  or  like  clouds  en 
dowed  with  volition  ? 

As  I  approach  nearer  and  nearer  to  my  change,  I 
take  more  and  more  reasonable  views  of  what  that 
change  shall  be.  The  contemplation  of  and  trust  in 
the  attributes  of  God,  as  manifested  in  his  works  of 
Creation,  Providence,  and  Redemption,  are  the  basis 
of  the  happiness  of  the  Christian  here  on  earth,  and 
the  more  fully  he  can  understand  and  trust  his  God, 
the  happier  he  is.  His  happiness  in  eternity  shall  be 
to  fully  trust,  and  to  constantly  increase  in  the  knowl 
edge  of  God. 

The  astronomer  shall  more  and  more  fully  under 
stand  the  laws  of  matter  and  motion,  and  shall  calcu 
late  with  perfect  certainty  their  action.  The  mathema 
tician  shall  constantly  find  new  and  vast  fields  for  the 
science  of  numbers.  The  musician  shall  make  new 
operas,  and  make  them  more  and  more  perfect  The 
mechanic  shall  discover  new  powers  and  new  applica 
tions  of  the  mechanical  powers.  The  chemist,  the  bot 
anist,  the  metallurgist,  the  microscopist  shall  each  be 
come  continually  more  perfect  in  his  art  and  science ; 
and  the  chemist  shall  become  also  an  astronomer ;  and 
the  musician  a  mathematician ;  and  the  microscopist  a 
mechanic ;  and  all  shall  grow  in  the  knowledge  of  the 
laws  of  moral  relations,  and  all  shall  have  common- 
sense.  There  shall  be  none  of  the  vagaries  and  follies 
which  have  afflicted  genius  here. 


334  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

Though  I  should  write  a  volume  on  this  subject,  and 
should  refer  to  all  human  learning  about  it,  I  could  not 
make  my  idea  more  clear,  however  I  might  develop  its 
details  and  consequences.  Let  me  return  then  to  the 
point  from  which  I  started. 

The  old  have  many  pleasures.  While  writing  this 
book,  and  the  two  or  three  others  my  executor  will  find 
in  my  desk,  I  have  almost  lived  my  life  over  again,  and 
if  at  times  it  made  my  heart  sad,  the  sadness  had  no 
sting.  The  company  of  my  young  friends  gives  me 
more  pleasure  than  it  did  when  I  too  was  young.  They 
little  think  that  their  health,  and  joys,  and  mirth  im 
part  more  gladness  to  an  old  man's  heart  than  they 
themselves  can  feel,  and  that  their  grace,  innocence, 
and  fresh  beauty  are  dwelt  upon  in  his  mind  as  clear 
proofs  of  the  eternal  perfection  he  hopes  for. 

There  is  my  little  pet,  Kate  Boiling.  It  makes  my 
old  heart  smile  to  think  of  her,  she  is  so  bright  and 
pure,  and  so  loving  to  all  around  her.  Unlike  poor 
Stephania  Allen,  though  not  more  good  or  beautiful, 
she  has  no  sorrowful  story.  Her  life  has  been  one  of 
mirth  and  sunshine,  unclouded  except  sometimes  by 
her  own  sad  thoughts  or  gentle  pity  for  others  less 
blessed  than  she,  or  possibly — who  knows  ? — by  her  lit 
tle  tempers  which  are  inseparable  from  human  nerves. 

Her  grandfather  was  my  near  neighbor  and  old 
friend — Isaac  Davis ;  and  the  old  place, with  an  ample 
fortune  had  descended  to  Mrs.  Boiling.  Kate  had  been 
born,  when  I  had  begun  to  think  myself  an  old  man, 
but  she  had  been  off  to  school  and  upon  her  travels  so 
much  that  I  scarcely  ever  saw  her  from  her  childhood, 
until  she  returned  home  to  stay,  nearly  two  years  ago. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  335 

One  afternoon  just  after  she  had  arrived  I  called  to 
make  a  neighborly  visit,  and  when  the  beautiful  girl 
came  into  the  room  to  meet  me,  I  almost  thought  her 
some  lovely  vision,  arid  feared  to  take  the  delicate 
white  hand  put  forth  to  welcome  me.  And  when  I 
thought  of  what  I  had  heard  of  her  intelligence  and 
accomplishments,  and  remembered  that  she  had  traveled 
and  been  feted  and  admired  abroad,  and  the  refinement 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  everywhere,  I  felt  embar 
rassed  before  so  fine  a  lady,  and  hardly  knew  what 
topic  I  should  touch  upon  not  to  betray  my  country 
breeding.  And  yet,  when  the  conversation  had  become 
engaged,  she  seemed  to  think  it  so  natural  when  in  my 
old  man's  way  of  talking  I  called  her  my  deal',  and  she 
entered  so  pleasantly  into  the  playful  vein  our  talk  had 
taken — that  I  was  encouraged  soon  to  repeat  my  neigh 
borly  visit,  and  my  visits  became  habitual  and  frequent. 

Now,  I  am  not  going  to  pretend  that  in  my  old  age 
I  have  found  a  non-such.  I  have  seen  more  beautiful 
women,  and  women  more  wise  and  lovely.  Had  she 
been  living  in  my  youth,  I  should  have  had  no  hesita 
tion  in  a  choice  between  her  and  my  Mary,  and  yet,  for 
all  that,  she  is  a  charming  girl,  and  has  very  naturally 
taken  a  warm  place  in  my  affections. 

She  will  no  doubt  at  a  future  day  marry  some  man 
she  loves,  and  her  life  shall  be  merged  in  his ;  for  him 
shall  be  her  pride,  her  hope,  and  all  her  affectionate 
solicitude.  I  cannot  say  that  I  envy  him ;  for  if  I 
could  exchange  my  gray  hairs  for  his  youthful  locks, 
or  baldness — as  the  case  may  be — my  old  frame  for  his 
vigor,  my  memories  for  his  hopes,  my  reflection  for  his 
passion,  I  would  not  do  so.  And  yet  I  feel  strangely 


336  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

jealous  of  him — and  when  I  see  a  young  man  about 
her  trying  to  make  himself  agreeable,  I  fear  that  he 
wishes  to  gain  her  affections  also,  and  feel  bitter  toward 
him,  and  have  an  impulse  of  heart  to  think  him  a 
puppy,  even  though  he  be  one  I  respect  and  have 
hitherto  liked. 

It  would  be  easy  enough  to  account  for  my  hating  a 
man  who  should  be  unkind  to  one  I  love ;  but  whence 
comes  this  jealousy,  which  my  reason  tells  me  I  must 
not  indulge  too  far  ? 

There  can  be  nothing  sinful  in  it,  nor,  since  it  is 
natural,  will  I  call  it  foolish.  Old  men  are  even  more 
tenacious  of  their  love  than  young  men ;  and  well  they 
may  be.  The  young  have  life  with  all  its  buoyant 
hopes  to  look  forward  to ;  their  love  may  be  a  rage, 
overwhelming  while  it  lasts,  but  it  is  not  all  of  life. 
An  old  man's  love  is  all  of  the  present  he  has  to  cling 
to,  and  his  future  is  a  blank  unfilled  by  any  hopes  save 
those  of  heaven.  He  is  jealous  of  the  last  lingering 
brightness  of  his  life,  and  cannot  bear  to  see  it  eclipsed. 
This  is  the  true  cause  why  old  parents  are  so  difficult 
to  please  in  the  choice  their  daughters  make  of  hus 
bands,  and  is,  I  suppose,  the  true  reason  why  I  feel 
such  a  pang  when  I  think  there  is  a  chance  my  little 
Kate  will  marry.  My  heart  says :  God  bless  her !  and 
my  reason  adds :  and  give  her  a  good  husband  !  But 
if  I  should  let  my  heart  alone  speak,  it  would  revolt 
against  the  husband,  while  I  lived,  unless,  indeed,  that 
husband  should  be  one  certain  young  gentleman  whom 
I  have  long  looked  upon  with  the  affection  of  a  father. 
After  thoroughly  examining  my  heart,  I  can  say  con 
scientiously  that  although  such  an  event  as  their  mar- 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  337 

riage  in  my  lifetime  would  give  me  a  twinge,  I  would, 
after  the  first  blow,  rejoice  at  it.  They  are  worthy  of 
each  other,  and  I  sincerely  hope  they  may,  after  this 
war  is  brought  to  a  happy  termination,  love  each  other 
truly,  and  marry. 

Miss  Kate  and  I  were  talking  about  family  names  a 
few  days  ago,  and  she  told  me  that  she  had  never 
thought  she  could  like  the  name  of  Abraham  so  well,  and 
asked  me  how  I  happened  to  be  called  by  that  name.  I 
told  her  that  it  was  no  family  name,  but  that  my  father 
had  given  it  to  me  for  many  good  reasons.  What 
those  reasons  were  I  will  give  here,  though  I  did  not 
inflict  them  at  length  upon  her. 

My  father  was  a  man  who  loved  his  Bible.  From 
his  youth  he  had  carefully  studied  it,  and  he  seemed  to 
have  a  most  intimate  acquaintance  with  all  the  char 
acters  in  it,  and,  no  doubt,  had  formed  in  his  own  mind 
a  distinct  idea  of  even  the  personal  appearance  of  each 
of  them.  Abraham  is  the  first  and  almost  the  only 
gentleman  whose  history  is  given  in  the  Bible.  He  is 
certainly  the  only  one  who  came  up  to  my  father's  idea 
of  what  a  Southern  gentleman  should  be ;  and  if  you 
will  look  at  the  facts,  a  Southerner  is  the  only  man  who 
can  come  up  to  the  noble  type  of  gentleman  presented 
to  us  in  that  Patriarch. 

He  was  brave,  hospitable,  domestic,  a  just  and  kind 
master,  a  loving,  patient  husband,  a  generous  neighbor, 
and  a  faithful  servant  of  his  God.  But  one  reproach 
can  be  made  him.  "Ah,  my  son,"  my  father  used  to 
say.  "That  trip  down  into  Egypt  was  a  dreadful  one 
for  Abraham's  reputation.  His  fighting  so  bravely 
afterward  confirms  me  in  my  belief  that  his  conduct  on 
29  w 


338  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

this  occasion  must  be  looked  at  very  narrowly  to  be 
properly  judged.  He  started  in  the  wrong  by  telling 
a  lie,  and  that  crippled  his  energies,  as  it  would  those 
of  any  gentleman.  He  could  not  cut  Pharaoh's  throat, 
because  Pharaoh  was  not  to  blame,  and,  besides,  his 
force  was  powerless  in  open  war  against  the  hosts  of 
the  king,  and  it  was  not  likely  the  king  would  fight 
a  duel  with  him,  although  he  was  a  distinguished 
stranger.  What  was  he  to  do  ?  The  plainest  way  I 
can  think  of  would  have  been  to  go  up  and  acknowl 
edge  that  he  had  lied,  and  claim  his  wife  again.  But 
then  the  original  cause  of  his  lie  would  remain.  Abra 
ham,  my  son,  was  certainly  in  what  we  Southerners 
would  call  '  a  fix/  and  I  presume  that  he  thought  it 
best  to  be  very  quiet  and  prudent,  and  to  rely  on  God's 
promise  and  help  for  deliverance,  and  he  no  doubt  went 
upon  his  knees  and  prayed  with  all  his  might  that  the 
matter  should  go  no  farther.  God  did  deliver  him,  and 
he  went  away  all  safe,  but  crestfallen.  Pharaoh's  re 
buke  must  have  cut  him  to  the  heart,  and  he  was,  no 
doubt,  glad  to  get  away  from  among  those  who  knew 
of  his  ridiculous  disgrace;  and  the  danger  his  honor 
had  run  must  have  made  him  tremble  ever  after  when 
he  thought  of  it."  And  my  father,  who  had  a  keen 
sense  of  humor,  would  shake  his  head  and  declare  that 
Abraham's  accepting  all  those  presents  looked  very 
badly,  and  that  he  did  not  at  all  understand  him  in  the 
matter. 

But,  except  in  this  one  instance,  where  in  all  history 
can  you  find  a  nobler  old  gentleman  than  Abraham  ? 
He  was  the  Master  and  Judge  Supreme  over  his  large 
household,  and  very  courteous  to  his  neighbors,  and 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  339 

independent  of  them.  His  refusal  to  take  the  spoil 
offered  him  by  the  King  of  Sodom  was  as  graceful  an  act 
as  you  shall  find  recorded  anywhere;  and  his  treatment 
of  his  very  disagreeable  relative,  Lot,  was  far  more 
generous  and  patient  than  could  have  reasonably  been 
expected. 

What  other  gentleman  than  a  Southerner  can  be  a 
Patriarch  such  as  was  Abraham  ?  To  be  the  master 
over  hired  servants  does  not  call  forth  the  qualities  of 
mind  and  heart  which  distinguished  him ;  for  I  con 
tend  that  the  justice,  benevolence,  independence  of 
spirit  toward  equals,  courtesy  and  kindness  to  inferiors; 
— in  fine,  the  true  dignity  of  man  as  he  was  made  in 
the  image  of  God  with  dominion,  can  be  fully  developed 
only  in  those  who  resemble  him  in  the  cii'cumstance  of 
being  a  master  over  slaves  and  responsible  for  them 
before  God  and  man.  The  earth  has  never  seen  nobler 
gentlemen  than  Southern  gentlemen. 

The  kind  of  gentleman  made  by  universal  equality 
is  of  a  baser  sort,  and  can  only  be  called  gentle  in  de 
fault  of  better.  His  is  an  ill-assured,  shop-keeping 
gentility;  an  envious,  contentious  gentility;  a  dis 
courteous,  impertinent,  assumptious  gentility,  which 
must  result  from  the  confused  order  of  social  position 
caused  by  the  attempt  to  establish  a  factitious  system 
of  equality  in  defiance  of  nature.  Under  such  a  system 
the  so-called  gentleman  is  very  likely  not  a  gentleman 
at  all;  and  even  if  he  be  a  gentleman  by  birth,  to  be 
held  as  a  gentleman  he  must  necessarily  be  more  or 
less  of  a  snob,  for  the  simple  reason  that  his  social 
position  must  depend  upon  his  wealth  and  his  assur 
ance.  This  is  the  case  even  in  countries  where  there 


340  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS   OF 

are  separate  and  well-defined  orders.  A  family  there, 
however  noble,  shall  by  loss  of  wealth  after  awhile 
become  mere  roturiers,  and  their  remains  of  pride 
shall  be  very  much  mixed  up  with  assumption.  But 
with  universal  equality,  the  gentleman  by  birth  has  no 
chance  at  all  unless  he  have  wealth. 

What  I  say  does  not  result  from  pride  of  class,  but 
from  observation,  and  any  man  who  has  ever  lived 
among  the  universal  freed ornites  anywhere,  or  in  any 
age,  will  confirm  me  in  every  particular.  True,  I  am  a 
gentleman,  and  so  were  rny  ancestors  before  me  for 
ages.  Why?  Because,  being  gentlemen,  their  caste 
was  assured  in  England,  and  since  they  have  lived  in 
this  country,  it  has  been  in  a  section  where  the  position 
has  been  equally  assured.  But  if  I  had  descendants,  and 
universal  equality  should  become  the  rule  in  this  coun 
try,  though  my  children  might  maintain  their  spirit  and 
position,  their  children  would  be  more  or  less  snobbish, 
and  in  a  generation  or  two  more  would  be  confirmed 
snobs,  though  they  should  be  rich  as  so  many  Croesuses. 
They  would  find  themselves  obliged  to  be  very  exclu 
sive,  very  haughty,  and  very  retired,  to  preserve  their 
position — it  would  not  be  firm  and  unquestioned. 

I  have  seen  too  much  of  the  world  not  to  understand 
this  thoroughly,  although  I  have  never  lived  where  this 
equality  existed.  The  most  exclusive,  haughtiest,  and 
most  snobbish  of  all  the  Southern  families  I  have  ever 
known  have  been  those  which  were  parvenues ;  people 
of  no  former  social  standing,  who  have  acquired  great 
wealth,  and  consequently  have  taken  this  ill -assured 
position  of  gentility  in  society.  They  must  needs  put 
on  airs  of  assumption  to  confirm  what  they  felt  was 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  341 

insecure.  The  same  feeling  of  insecurity  and  spirit  of 
assumption  must  needs  produce  the  same  conduct  where 
wealth  and  assurance  are  all  which  can  raise  families 
above  the  surrounding  dead  level.  As  for  virtue  and 
talent  without  wealth,  they  are  looked  upon  as  imper 
tinences. 

I  trust  it  will  be  ages  before  the  changes  in  society 
in  this  country  shall  render  the  peculiar  characteristics 
of  the  Southern  gentleman  impossible  to  be  developed. 

But  enough  of  this.  I  have  wandered  far,  but  al 
ways  in  natural  sequence  of  ideas,  beyond  the  answer 
I  gave  to  Miss  Kate's  question.  Heaven  forbid  she 
should  ever  marry  any  but  a  Southern  gentleman.  A 
German  Baron,  or  a  French  Marquis,  or  a  Cotton- 
factory  Lord  would  be  but  a  poor  substitute  to  a 
Southern  lady-— although  my  grand-niece  thinks  to  the 
contrary,  for  herself. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

ONE  of  the  most  singular  of  all  the  phenomena  of 
old  age,  at  any  rate  of  my  old  age,  is  its  barren 
ness  of  incident.  I  know  that  of  late  years  very  many 
things  have  occurred  about  which  I  could  write — but 
they  do  not  interest  me.  I  find  that  I  have  forgotten 
them,  or  that  my  memory  and  feelings  are  sluggish 
about  them.  I  do  not  speak,  of  course,  of  the  great 
public  events  which  I  presume  engulf  almost  all  other 
incidents,  even  with  the  young.  History  will  record 
them.  I  speak  only  of  incidents  in  private  life  which 
29* 


342  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS    OF 

affect  me.  If  I  chose,  I  could  fill  volumes  with  little 
events  of  my  earlier  days  which  made  profound  im 
pressions  upon  me.  My  affections  were  then  vigorous, 
and  my  relations  in  life  were  varied.  Now  1  am  neither 
a  father,  a  husband,  a  son,  a  brother,  or  a  lawyer — I 
am  nothing  but  an  old  man,  living  at  peace,  personally, 
with  all  the  world.  Except  Ben  Eccles  and  my  ser 
vants,  there  is  not  a  soul  dependent  on  me.  A  visit  to 
Miss  Kate,  or  by  her  to  me,  is  a  marked  event  in  my 
placid  existence — because,  I  suppose,  it  is  the  only  one 
which  excites  my  affections  pleasurably. 

Yes,  the  only  event ;  for  my  visits  to  John  Mitchell, 
or  to  his  sister  Margaret,  who  now  teaches  the  smaller 
children  at  the  Academy,  are  seldom  pleasant,  except 
in  a  philanthropic  point  of  view ;  and  Ben  Eccles,  poor 
fellow,  frequently  bores  me. 

My  executor  will  find  among  my  manuscripts  one 
which  relates  what  I  know  of  Ben  Eccles,  and  I  will 
therefore  here  say  of  him  only  that  he  is  a  good-hearted 
man,  of  good  family,  who  used  to  be  highly  esteemed 
for  intelligence,  but  who  had  at  times,  for  many  years, 
a  singular  derangement  of  mind  which,  while  it  lasted, 
unfitted  him  for  any  manner  of  business.  I  took  him 
to  live  with  me  not  very  long  after  the  death  of  my 
brother  Eldred,  and  he  has  given  but  little  trouble,  and 
often  been  of  great  convenience  to  me. 

John  Mitchell  and  his  sister  are,  or  rather  were,  or 
phans,  and  not  very  interesting  orphans  either — except, 
as  I  have  said,  in  a  philanthropic  point  of  view.  Their 
father  was  an  Englishman,  a  carpenter,  who  came  to 
Yatton,  some  eighteen  or  twenty  years  ago,  with  his 
wife  and  two  children.  He  was  a  loose  sort  of  char- 


ABU  AH  AM  PAGE,  ESQ.  343 

acter;  frequently  drank  too  much,  and  kept  his  wife 
and  children  in  hot  water  while  he  could  drink,  and  in 
utter  misery  while  he  had  the  consumption,  from  which 
he  speedily  died.  His  wife  soon  took  the  disease,  per 
haps  from  him,  as  she  had  already  got  from  him  the 
habit  of  drinking,  and  died  also,  leaving  the  two  chil 
dren  destitute.  John  was  a  Jim  Holmes  sort  of  a  boy 
— just  as  sly,  and  far  more  reckless.  His  father  had 
Avhaled  all  feeling  out  of  him ;  but  after  he  had  received 
as  good  schooling  as  was  possible  in  Yatton,  he  seemed 
to  be  inspired  with  an  ambition  either  to  be  genteel,  or 
to  live  without  work,  and,  instead  of  becoming  a  car 
penter  or  taking  up  some  other  trade,  he  must  needs  be 
a  doctor.  He  was  gratified  in  that,  sent  to  a  medical 
school,  where  he  graduated,  and  returned  here  to  Yat 
ton  three  or  four  years  ago,  and  commenced  practice. 

I  have  very  little  to  say  about  him.  His  conduct, 
so  far  as  I  know  it,  is  irreproachable,  but  he  is  too 
overwhelmingly  grateful  and  shrinkingly  humble  to  be 
sincere,  and  he  shows  himself  so  selfish  toward  his 
sister,  who,  as  I  have  chanced  to  learn,  has  two  or 
three  times  had  occasion  to  borrow  a  little  money  from 
him,  of  which  he  has  held  her  to  the  rigid  repayment, 
that  I  doubt  if  he  will  ever  marry.  He  never  will,  un 
less  he  can  benefit  himself  by  marrying  rich,  and  I  do 
not  believe  that  any  girl,  in  this  part  of  the  country, 
above  the  class  from  which  he  sprung,  will  marry  him. 
However,  we  shall  see.  It  is  certain  that  if  he  live  he 
will  be  rich,  and  it  is  equally  certain  that  he  will  not 
be  killed  in  the  army.  He  has  already  been  offered  in 
succession  the  posts  of  assistant  surgeon  and  surgeon, 
but  he  has  his  excuses,  and  no  draft  likely  to  be  made 


344  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

will  include  him.  He  has  always  a  couple  of  fine  fast 
horses  which  no  press  can  take,  because  they  are,  or 
may  be,  necessary  in  his  practice.  I'll  warrant  that  he 
keeps  them  fat,  and  keeps  fat  and  nicely  clad  himself, 
whatever  may  betide. 

If  any  one  think  that  I  am  uncharitable  in  putting 
this  on  record,  he  is  mistaken.  The  punishment  is  not 
commensurate  with  the  offense.  Add  to  it  the  pillory  for 
life,  and  you  should  not  be  too  severe,  nor  should  you 
thereby  add  one  stigma  to  the  infamy  which  must  de 
scend  to  this  man's  remotest  descendant.  He  deserves 
it  all,  and  though  he  is  but  a  poor  little  creature  to  be 
thus  made  notorious,  he  represents  a  class,  on  every 
one  of  whom  the  same  remarks  and  sentence  must  be 
passed. 

The  truth  is,  that  it  as  impossible  to  make  a  noble 
man  out  of  an  ignoble  stock  as  it  is  to  make  a  white 
man  out  of  a  negro.  A  great  many  good  people  have 
tried,  and  are  trying  of  late  days  to  make  silk  purses 
out  of  sow's  ears;  just  as  great  masses  of  fanatics  are 
trying  to  make  the  Ethiopian  change  his  skin.  Neither 
can  succeed.  The  negro  has  been  a  negro  for  at  least 
four  thousand  years^and  will  still  be  a  negro  four  thou 
sand  years  hence.  \_The  mean  white  has  been  mean  for 
ages,  and  his  blood  will  be  mean  for  ages  to  come 
wherever  it  shows  itself.~7  But  for  all  that,  it  is  our 
duty  to  try  and  elevate  the  mean  of  each  generation ; 
for  by  doing  so  we  improve  in  some  degree,  physically 
at  least,  the  generations  which  succeed  them.  I  have 
long  since,  however,  found  out  that  it  is  a  foolish  weak 
ness  to  fall  in  love  with  the  objects  of  our  charity,  and 
nurture  them  in  our  bosoms. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  345 

Nevertheless,  there  are  orphans,  and  orphans.  I 
have  known  some  who  could  only  be  nurtured  properly 
in  one's  heart  of  hearts. 

About  thirty  years  ago  there  came  to  Yatton  a 
young  lawyer  and  his  wife.  She  had  been  a  Miss  Ellen 
O'Brien,  of  South  Carolina,  born  and  raised  a  lady,  and 
had  married  Robert  Harley,  of  Virginia,  a  young  law 
yer  just  getting  into  good  practice  in  his  native  State. 
But  the  climate  of  Virginia  had  proved  unfitted  for  her, 
it  was  thought,  and  the  doctors  advised  her  removal 
farther  South.  So  they  sold  all  their  property  except 
three  or  four  family  servants,  and  removed  to  Yatton, 
in  a  pretty  cottage,  in  the  suburbs  of  which  they  lived 
in  quiet  and  elegant  simplicity.  He  brought  most  flat 
tering  letters  of  introduction,  but  they  were  scarcely 
needed ;  his  appearance  and  manners  were  sufficient  to 
introduce  him  favorably  anywhere. 

His  gentle  and  beautiful  young  wife  loved  him  with 
perfect  devotion — which  was  not  at  all  wonderful,  for 
he  was  in  all  respects  as  noble  a  young  man  as  I  have 
ever  known — and  he  repaid  her  love  by  the  most  tender 
affection  and  solicitude. 

His  first  appearance  at  the  bar  was  in  a  criminal 
case  of  some  notoriety,  which  he  defended  successfully 
with  rare  tact  and  splendid  eloquence.  Business  flowed 
upon  him — more  than  he  could  possibly  attend  to  was 
offered ;  for  he  was  as  genial  and  bright  in  private  life 
as  he  was  learned  and  eloquent  in  his  profession.  As 
he  never  felt  the  want  of  money,  he  never  cared  enough 
for  it  to  accumulate  it.  He  seemed  to  continually  put 
off  to  a  future  time  the  care  of  making  provision  for  his 
family  in  his  old  age  or  in  case  of  his  death. 


346  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 

Mrs.  Harley's  health  remained  delicate  for  three  or 
four  years,  and  he  would  travel  with  her  every  summer 
to  this  and  that  springs,  to  the  seashore,  to  the  mount 
ains, — wherever  it  was  suggested  she  might  receive 
benefit, — until  at  last  little  Robert,  their  first  child,  was 
born.  Harley  was  almost  perfectly  happy,  for  the  little 
fellow  seemed  to  bring  health  with  him  to  his  mother, 
who  became  rosy  and  strong,  and  devoted  herself  with 
unfagging  love  and  pride  to  his  care  and  adornment. 

I  have  never  seen  a  man  who  could  do  so  much  busi 
ness  so  thoroughly  in  so  short  a  time  as  Harley.  His 
powerful  mind  was  perfectly  under  control,  and  he 
could  direct  all  of  its  force  upon  each  complication  and 
dispose  of  it  while  most  other  men  would  be  hesitating 
about  its  preliminaries.  The  new  happiness  which 
had  come  upon  him  seemed  to  give  a  grandeur  to  his 
mind  and  a  gentleness  to  his  feelings  which  made  him 
even  more  attractive  than  before,  though  he  had  never 
seemed  lacking  in  either  grandeur  or  gentleness.  He 
made  a  great  deal  of  money,  but  he  had  a  great  facil 
ity  for  spending,  also.  He  gave  large  and  splendid 
dinners  and  evening  parties.  He  insisted  that  his  wife 
should  dress  splendidly — and  as  he  was  particularly 
fond  of  precious  stones  and  jewelry,  he  continually 
made  her  presents  of  those  things,  which  she  did  not 
wish  to  wear  and  did  not  know  how  to  decline. 

Three  years  after  Robert's  birth  Alice  was  born,  and 
two  years  after  that  Harley  died  suddenly  of  apoplexy 
— and  within  the  year  his  wife  followed  him.  When 
the  estate  came  to  be  settled  up,  it  was  found  that 
there  were  unpaid  accounts,  some  of  them  very  large, 
in  almost  every  store  in  town;  and  when  they  were  all 
paid,  the  children  were  almost  penniless. 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  347 

When,  after  Mrs.  Harley's  funeral,  I  saw  Robert 
and  his  sister:  he  a  manly  little  fellow,  and  not  yet 
able  to  fully  realize  his  loss;  she  a  beautiful  little 
curly-headed  girl,  already  imperious,  rigged  out  in  her 
finery  by  her  nurse,  and  seated  on  the  floor  playing  with 
a  book  of  plates,  and  calling:  Mamma!  mamma!  and 
presently  saying  to  her  nurse:  "Betty,  tell  mamma 
come!"  I  determined  that  not  even  an  Orphan  Asy 
lum,  blessed  institution  as  it  is,  should  have  the  man 
agement  of  them — and  I  took  them  to  my  house, 
where  they  remained  until  old  enough  to  be  sent  to 
school.  They  were  the  two  orphans  Miss  Stephania 
Allen  was  teaching;  and  they  have  repaid  me  by 
affection  and  by  their  own  goodness  and  intelligence 
for  all  my  care.  Alice  married  a  very  excellent  and 
wealthy  gentleman,  who  is  now  colonel  of  one  of  our 
regiments ;  and  Robert,  a  promising  lawyer,  is  a  cap 
tain  in  the  same  regiment. 

People  are  so  accustomed  to  hear  charity  sermons, 
and  charity  cant,  and  charity  begging,  and  to  see  spec 
ulations  for  charity,  and  charity  swindles,  that  nowa 
days  the  very  name  of  charity  has  been  suggestive  of 
money,  and  causes  a  sinking  of  the  heart  and  an  invol 
untary  grasp  upon  the  pocket-book. 

But  let  any  one  take  a  moment  of  solitude,  and 
imagine  himself  an  orphan  child,  or  his  children  little 
orphans,  with  only  strangers  to  look  to  for  love  and 
assistance  if  they  are  to  have  love  and  assistance  at  all, 
and  if  he  have  any  imagination  and  heart  he  will  find 
a  feeling  of  sad  compassion  coming  over  him. 

The  source  of  most  of  the  hard-heartedness  in  this 
\  world  is  thoughtlessness.     There  is  no  lack  of  syni- 


348  LIFE  AXD   OPINIONS   OF 

pathy  when  men  allow  themselves  to  imagine  them 
selves  in  the  place  of  those  who  are  needy  or  suffer 
ing.  The  injunction,  "Know  thyself,"  means:  know 
not  only  what  you  feel  and  think  now,  but  also  how 
you  would  feel,  think,  and  act  under  any  given  cir 
cumstances.  Compassion  and  sympathy  are  feeling 
just  as  the  object  presented  feels.  We  have  compas 
sion  upon  the  suffering,  and  sympathy  with  the  poor  or 
joyous,  only  when  we  can  imagine  that  we  feel  just  as 
the  suffering,  or  the  poor,  or  joyous  feel. 

Try,  while  by  yourself  to-day  or  to-night,  and  imag 
ine  yourself,  or  your  child,  an  orphan.  You  will  then 
be  able  to  sympathize  with  an  orphan.  Many  of  the 
little  children  at  the  oqihan  asylums  have  had  as  good 
and  loving  parents  as  you  or  your  parents,  and  as  com 
fortable  homes  as  yours ;  but  the  parents  are  dead,  and 
the  homes  are  desolate  or  occupied  by  others. 

Shut  your  eyes  now,  and  give  the  reins  to  your 
imagination.  You  are  dead ;  your  little  boy  and  girl 
are  parentless.  They  can  be  no  longer  clasped  in  your 
arms.  Their  tears  are  unheeded,  or  harshly  reproved. 
Their  wants,  even  if  relatives  supply  them,  are  only 
half  foreseen  or  provided  for.  Your  anxious  love  no 
longer  watches  over  them,  and  their  joys  and  their 
sorrows  must  be  imparted  to  strangers.  But  those  to 
whom  you  or  circumstances  have  intrusted  the  little 
ones  deprived  of  your  care,  become  weary  of  them  and 
they  are  shifted  off  to  other  strangers,  or  allowed  to 
run,  half  wild,  upon  the  streets,  until  at  last  they  are 
sent  to  an  orphan  asylum — if  there  be  one  in  the  com 
munity.  Thank  God  for  that !  They  have  a  refuge  at 
last,  and  their  most  necessary  wants  may  be  supplied, 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  349 

even  though  the  supply  be  precarious.  Charity  is  often 
at  a  discount  in  the  community,  and  sometimes  bread 
and  meat  and  clothes  are  scarce  with  your  little  ones 
and  the  other  little  ones  congregated  there ;  and  you  can 
imagine  your  cherished  children  trying  on  the  half 
worn-out  shoes,  and  out-grown  jackets  and  frocks  sent 
in  chance  of  a  fit  by  some  fortunate  mother,  and  can 
see  their  pride  and  comfort  in  wearing  them,  and  can 
see,  too,  the  greed  and  joy  they  feel  at  the  little  treat 
of  a  piece  of  cake  or  a  bit  of  candy — those  children  you 
now  love  so  much,  and  who  have  everything  they  can 
desire.  And  you  see  them  of  a  Sunday  going  to 
church  in  the  procession,  two  by  two,  with  the  ill- 
assorted  dresses,  and  shabby,  well-brushed  shoes,  and 
thread-bare  pants  (for  charity,  remember,  is  at  a  dis 
count),  and  see  them  file  in  and  take  their  seats  to  hear 
a  sermon  upon  Charity,  which  falls  upon  weary  ears, 
and  excites  no  sympathy  for  your  dear  children.  They 
go  back  to  their  public  home,  and  the  matron,  though 
she  be  an  angel  upon  earth,  can  work  no  miracle  and 
give  them  delicacies  where  there  is  a  lack  of  even  plain 
food,  and  though  she  were  endowed  with  all  human 
wisdom,  and  goodness,  and  patience,  cannot  indulge 
them  in  all  the  childishness  you  would  have  tolerated. 
All  this  is  very  sad.  Even  though  a  bountiful  fund 
were  provided  for  the  public  charity,  it  is  sad  to  be  de 
pendent  upon  a  public  charity  for  love,  and  for  food 
and  comfort.  How  much  more  grievous  for  matron, 
and  nurse,  and  children,  where  the  fare  is  poor,  and 
scant,  and  precarious,  and  even  rags,  and  old  hats,  and 
bonnets,  and  shoes  are  acceptable  gifts  !  How  infinitely 
worse  is  it  when  there  is  no  public  charity !  I  had  al- 
30 


350  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

ready  begun  to  think  myself  growing  old  when  the  first 
orphan  asylum  was  established  in  any  town  near  Yat- 
ton.  The  population  of  our  country  was  so  sparse, 
comparatively,  and  the  circumstances  of  the  whites 
were  generally  so  good  that  there  was  but  little  use  for 
such  institutions.  But  I  am  convinced  that,  except  in 
special  instances  like  that  I  have  narrated  of  Robert 
and  Alice,  it  is  best  where  children  have  to  depend 
upon  strangers  for  a  support,  to  place  them  in  orphan 
asylums.  My  observation  has  taught  me  that,  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  they  are  more  apt  to  retain  their  self- 
respect  when  dependent  upon  the  public,  than  when 
upon  private  charity — and  not  only  so,  they  have  less 
opportunity  for  ingratitude. 

I  made  my  little  story  about  Alice  and  Robert  as 
short  as  possible,  because  I  only  told  it  for  illustration. 
But  I  may  as  well  say  here,  in  explanation,  that  I  do 
not  leave  my  property  to  Alice  because  she  has  enough 
without  it ;  and  I  do  not  leave  it  to  Robert  for  reasons 
which  I  will  explain  to  him  when  I  see  him,  and  which 
I  heartily — yes,  fondly — hope  shall  prove  satisfactory. 

[NOTE  BY  THE  EXECUTOR. — Captain  Harley  was 
killed  at  the  battle  of  Seven  Pines,  while  bravely  lead 
ing  his  company.  It  was  Mr.  Page's  great  desire  that 
he  should  marry  Miss  Kate  Boiling.  I  knew  Robert 
when  he  was  quite  a  small  boy,  and  he  then  bade  fair 
to  become  the  noble  young  gentleman  Mr.  Page  con 
sidered  him.  I  suppose  that  Miss  Kate  was  also  ac 
quainted  with  him,  but  from  what  Mr.  Page  has  al 
ready  said,  I  have  no  idea  that  anything  more  than  a 
mere  acquaintanceship  had  sprung  up  between  them  in 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  351 

the  short  time  which  elapsed  between  her  return  home 
and  his  starting  off  to  the  Virginia  army. 

Ben  Eccles,  who  is  mentioned  in  this  chapter  by  Mr. 
Page,  died  in  1864.] 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

SINCE  I  wrote  the  last  chapter  the  confusion  of  a 
great  war  has  surged  up  all  around  me,  and  the 
events  of  my  life,  and  my  life  itself,  have  become  so 
dwarfed  that  I  have  no  patience  to  task  my  memory 
with  the  one,  and  would  feel  ashamed  of  my  unsympa 
thetic  egotism  in  writing  about  the  other.  What  I  have 
written  is  written,  and  I  am  glad  that  I  wrote  it  before 
the  present  great  excitement,  for  now  I  could  not  write 
it  if  I  would ;  I  cannot  even  revise  it.  If  I  should  be 
alive  and  well  when  a  glorious  peace  shall  close  our 
successful  struggle,  I  will  go  over  it  again  and  correct 
its  errors,  if  I  shall  discover  them,  and  make  its  lan 
guage  more  harmonious  if  I  can,  and  add  to  it  if  I  find 
it  proper  ;  but  with  the  misery,  and  sorrow,  and  dread, 
and  pain  all  about  me,  as  it  is  all  about  in  every  part 
of  my  country,  I  have  no  heart  to  write  or  think  of 
myself. 

In  reading  over  this  paragraph  I  have  just  written, 
I  find  that  I  have  three  times  repeated  the  same  idea — 
the  idea  of  a  general  trouble  which  absorbs  all  other 
interests.  The  earth,  the  air,  fire  and  water,  are  full  of 
that  idea.  The  earth  bears  or  withholds  its  fruits,  and 
its  minerals  and  metals,  in  relation  to  it;  the  rains 


352  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS  OF 

descend  and  the  waters  rise  and  flow,  for  good  or  ill, 
with  regard  to  it  alone ;  the  air  vibrates  with  the  wails 
of  sorrow  and  pain  and  the  mighty  din  of  conflict,  until 
the  soft  accents  of  peaceful  love  can  no  longer  be  dis 
tinguished;  and  fire  lightens,  hisses,  and  roars  from 
the  ends  of  the  earth  only  to  increase  that  trouble.  All 
nature  seems  to  act  and  torment  itself  alone  for  our 
safety  or  destruction;  and  man's  individuality  is  as 
much  swallowed  up  in  the  confusion  of  the  physical 
contest  as  it  shall  be  engulfed  in  the  social  amalgama 
tion  which  must  result  from  the  moral  and  political 
maelstrom  into  which  the  triumph  of  the  principles  we 
oppose  would  plunge  us.  May  God  prolong  and  even 
intensify  the  present  trouble  rather  than  deliver  us  into 
the  worser  woe !  The  present  trouble  may  end  in  peace, 
but  the  principles  which  war  against  us  can  only  bring 
on  continuing  misery  and  renewed  war,  to  end  in  de 
struction  and  a  new  creation. 

1  have  perfect  faith  in  the  justice  of  our  cause,  and 
great  confidence  in  most  of  those  we  have  constituted 
our  leaders.  With  the  great  man  upon  whom  we  have 
imposed  the  task  of  finding  and  organizing  strength  for 
our  weakness,  and  accomplishing  by  all  means  our  de 
sires,  I  have  a  profound  sympathy.  No  man  has  ever 
before  borne  such  a  responsibility  against  such  odds ; 
and  yet  I  have  a  firm  belief  that  if  we  be  true  to  our 
selves,  and  the  agents  he  selects  be  faithful,  he  shall, 
by  God's  help,  and  without  a  thought  for  his  own  per 
sonal  aggrandizement,  bring  us  through  the  effort  a 
free  and  prosperous  people.  I  believe  that  he  loves, 
more  than  he  loves  himself,  the  people  who  have  of 
their  own  accord  imposed  the  burden  of  their  troubles 


ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ.  353 

upon  him,  and  that  he  has  the  honest  and  firm  convic 
tion  that  strict  constitutional  government  is  the  only 
safety  of  mankind  from  the  evils  of  the  selfishness  of 
their  own  nature.  If  we  succeed,  he  will  rank  the 
greatest  of  historical  men  in  varied  ability  and  virtue, 
and  if  we  fail,  and  he  survive  the  failure,  his  only  care 
for  his  own  fate  shall  be  to  preserve  in  it  his  own  in 
tegrity,  and  illustrate  by  his  life  or  death  the  brave  and 
honest  people  who  have  made  him  their  head,  the  class 
of  Southern  gentlemen  from  whom  he  has  sprung,  and 
the  Christian  fortitude  he  professes. 

It  may  be  that  I  shall  not  live  to  see  the  end  of  our 
contest.  I  am  a  very  old  man.  I  have  passed  my 
threescore  years  and  ten,  and  can  truly  say  that  my 
strength  is  now  "labor  and  sorrow."  The  rest  by  Mary's 
side  shall  be  sweet,  and  I  will  be  glad  when  the  time 
comes  for  me  to  be  gathered  there,  for  I  am  very  weary. 

I  wish  now,  and  here,  to  lay  aside  the  past,  with  all 
its  joys  and  sorrows,  its  right  things  and  its  errors,  its 
approvals  and  condemnations,  as  they  exist  in  my  mem 
ory,  retaining  only  the  hopes  and  feelings  my  expe 
rience  and  observation  of  the  goodness  of  God  has  en 
gendered.  To  hope,  to  love,  and  to  weep  are  the  only 
results  of  all  the  learning  of  my  life  worth  a  thought. 
I  have  learned  to  love  my  fellow-men,  to  weep  for  the 
miseries  of  humanity,  and  to  hope  for  a  better  future  for 
it  on  earth,  and  the  blessedness  of  heaven  for  many 
more  of  my  race  than  I  once  thought  could  be  received 
there.  The  hopes  must  end  with  life  or  fruition ;  the 
tears  shall  be  changed  to  admiration  in  contemplating 
the  justice  and  goodness  of  God ;  the  love  alone  shall 
remain  suffusing  my  being  throughout  eternity. 
30*  x 


354     LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF  ABRAHAM  PAGE,  ESQ. 

At  early  dawn  this  morning  I  walked  in  Mary's  gar 
den.  The  birds  sang  to  me  of  her,  and  the  soft,  per 
fumed  breeze  whispered  to  me  that  in  all  its  wander 
ings,  it  had  not  met  her  since  she  stood  there  at  my 
side.  But  I  have  no  fear  that  I  shall  not  find  my 
Mary.  Before  my  body  shall  be  laid  by  hers  my  love 
shall  have  urged  and  guided  me  to  her,  waiting  with 
eager  patience  to  lead  me  in  sweetest  converse  to  the 
presence  of  our  Lord. 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNIA 

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